Curse You, Dewitt!
by Scribe Teradia
Summary: or the terrible truth about airborne veritaserum
1. Chapter 01

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

**Author's Note:** This isn't your typical story, it's actually a collaborative effort between myself and bookaddict19 in which we alternate telling parts of the story. So I'm only responsible for two-thirds of it (the concept of doing it in the first place was entirely mine, so I'll take the blame on that one), most especially the Draco bits. She took over Hermione, and together we came up with this. Canon-wise, it's compliant with all 7 books except for the epilogue of Deathly Hollows, and is set four years after the end of the war. Rated M for language and content.

**Curse You, DeWitt!**

by Scribe Teradia and bookaddict19

**Chapter One**

Every week, the local wizarding library hosts Story Hour for children of a certain pre-Hogwarts age. They come, they listen to stories, they go home. At least, that's the general idea. This week, however, one of the children (a little tow-headed boy of four or five) is still in the children's wing well after Story Hour is over with. It's not until a couple of hours before the library is set to close that the Head Librarian decides that perhaps something has happened to the boy's guardian, seeing as how he's now been there some seven hours without one, and she places a call to the Ministry to report a possible missing person and/or abandoned child.

Which is how Draco Malfoy, an Auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, finds himself entering said library, an hour before closing, with one of the last people he'd have chosen to keep company with. "I don't see why you had to come with me," Cho Chang says, for at least the third time, with an angry toss of her head. "I could have handled this." Malfoy starts to count to ten, makes it to five, and explains, again, "If the child's parent has gone missing, it's up to the MLE to investigate the disappearance. And if they've simply abandoned the child, it's up to us to track them down and see that justice is done. Complaining isn't going to help matters, and it's unprofessional, besides."

While it soon may seem almost like old home week from Hogwarts, for the moment it is the Head Librarian who comes forward to greet the pair as they enter her domain. Elmira Vendworth is an elderly witch, prim, and of the no nonsense variety you would expect to be in charge of one of the larger Wizarding libraries in London. She's frowning, perhaps at the way the pair appears to be bickering, or perhaps it is disapproval for the whole matter. She offers polite enough greetings, however. "Good evening. I am Miss Vendworth, the head librarian. I trust you have come about the child? He is in the children's section with our children's librarian. It is this way." She only waits long enough for acknowledgement before sweeping off at a swift pace towards the children's section of the library.

It is a section far less imposing than the grand stature of much of the rest of the building - no cold marble here. Instead there are colorful rugs, low tables, and the shelves holding a wide variety of books that are low and made of warm wood. There is a welcoming space obviously designed for story hours and puppet shows and sitting in a rocking chair there, the young boy obviously tired by now in her lap, sits Hermione Granger holding book and boy and clearly telling a story.

"Yes, of course." Cho immediately schools her features into an expression of concern, and Draco wonders briefly how much of it is genuine as he trails after them into the children's wing, allowing her to take the lead for now since it seems to have shut her the hell up. It's been long enough that at first he doesn't recognize the woman holding the boy, not until Cho draws his attention with a disbelieving utterance of, "Hermione?" Then the quicksilver eyes focus and narrow, though he continues to let the social worker carry the questioning with, "What are _you_ doing _here_?"

It's been a rather hard day for little Johnny, who can't be expected to understand why his mum never came back. The adventure of having luncheon at the library and getting to spend most the day with Miss Granger has rather worn off when he'd like to be home with his dog and his own special cup. So the interruption to the story prompts a sniffle. He's been very good about not crying today but it's been a very long time since his mum dropped him off. Hermione's brown eyes flick up at the interruption but at the sniffle go right back to the little boy and she rocks him with some of the expertise acquired from being 'aunty' to Harry and Ginny's kids. "Shhhh, you're all right, Johnny." It is the head librarian who introduces, obviously somewhat unnecessarily, "Miss Granger is our children's librarian."

"Johnny." Cho glides over to kneel beside the rocker, showing an empathy that rather surprises Draco, but it turns out she's really rather good at social work. "Hallo, Johnny. My name is Cho. I'm going to be taking care of you for a little while." This isn't strictly true, she's going to be getting him to a foster home where someone _else_ will take care of him, but she decides not to complicate things with the details. Draco's gaze slides away from the child, meeting the Head Librarian's stare. "I'll need to take a look at the security logs," he says, quietly, his voice deeper these days, a rumbling baritone. "You have an ID on who dropped him off?"

The little boy clings closer to Hermione, who he at least knows, but she gently urges him to face the other girl. "Johnny, do you remember our story about Quidditch last week? Cho, here, used to play Quidditch in school. I know you enjoyed the story very much," she says soothingly, "maybe she'll tell you some more about the game."

The head librarian, meanwhile, says, "Of course we keep logs, the children must be signed in and signed out. We thought, perhaps, his mother was just late. The child comes to story hour regularly and Miss Granger informs me that she is sometimes late to pick him up. Never this late, however." The log is obtained and sure enough it has the mother's name in it, but no address, no mirror number, not even a Muggle telephone number.

"That's right, I played for Ravenclaw," Cho says, with an encouraging smile and nod at the boy. "I was quite the Seeker, too, though of course nowhere near as good as Harry." Draco leaves Cho with Hermione and little Johnny, following the librarian to check the logs. No contact information. Swell. "Granger's seen the woman, then?" That's slightly promising, maybe he can get a description out of her. Provided she's willing to talk civilly to him long enough.

"Why, yes, I believe so," the librarian replies. "She's very competent, our Miss Granger. She knows most of the relatives that bring children to story hour by sight." She's actually stopped one or two strangers from picking up children who were not theirs to collect though Miss Vendworth doesn't mention it. Appropriate reports were filed at the time.

Johnny slowly unburies his head at the mention of Quidditch, though it is still hidden when he smirks. Course that girl isn't as good as Harry Potter. He's a famous professional Quidditch player now and Miss Granger knows him. Miss Granger knows everyone. Or at least so Johnny believes.

Hermione smiles down at the boy, "There now, that's better. I'd imagine you're nearly hungry again. It's been a while since luncheon. He'll be needing some supper soon, Cho, but we saw to it that he had lunch and a rest." She doesn't call it a nap, though it was. Boys Johnny's age are sensitive about their naps.

"My goodness, yes, supper will certainly be in order. Johnny, if you'll come along with me, I'll see to it that you get something to eat." Cho smiles at the boy, holding out her hand. "And while you're eating, I can tell you the story of how Harry Potter beat me to the Snitch, back when we were in school." Draco nods politely at the librarian and drifts back toward the rocker when he left Cho and Hermione. Hopefully Cho can pry the kid away soon so he can get on with his job.

"But what about Mum? She told me to stay here," Johnny asks, looking not at Cho but at Hermione.

Hermione looks at Johnny and she's very gentle as she says, "Your mum seems to have been delayed considerably today Johnny. Do you remember that story we read where the girl got lost?" Johnny nods. "Well sometimes mums get lost too, but she'll be found and she'll want you to have been taken care of and to have had supper in the meantime. All right? Miss Cho will make sure you are taken care of until your mum is found from wherever she's gotten lost. It will be very important to your mum that you try not to be scared and stay safe and well. I know a big boy like you can do that for her."

Johnny swallows back the sniffle that was about to come out and nods. "Okay Miss Granger. You will tell her where I am when she gets founded?"

"Of course, I will Johnny. Straight away," Hermione says, hoping that the woman hasn't met with a serious accident. Johnny is a nice kid and fairly good for all that he's a curious little guy.

Johnny still doesn't look happy but he uncurls his arms from around Miss Granger and climbs down from her lap. "Do you know lots of stories like Miss Granger then?" he asks Cho doubtfully.

Still squatting so that she's eye level with the boy, Cho nods at him. "Lots of stories, yes. Though perhaps not quite so many as Miss Granger." Cho looks up to flash Hermione a smile, clearly agreeing that the librarian is superior in her storytelling. "She's right, though, that your mum would want you to be taken care of while she's being found, and Mr. Malfoy, there, will be doing everything he can to find her, isn't that right, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco nods seriously at the tyke. "Draco Malfoy, finder of losted mums, that's me."

To say that Hermione Granger is less than fond of Draco Malfoy is putting it mildly, though she hasn't seen him in a few years. For little Johnny's sake she keeps it out of her expression, but her eyes flare with dislike. "Johnny, perhaps you can tell Miss Cho some stories too. I'm sure she'd like to hear more about where you live and about your mum, dear, but for now let her take you for some supper and those quidditch stories she's promised you and I'll see about helping Mr. Malfoy with looking for your mum," she says, her voice full of the protective warmth that most often encompassed her friends at school.

Even without looking at her, Draco knows that look is in her eyes, can sense it in the way her shoulders straighten, but he doesn't so much as bat an eyelash.

Cho slowly gets to her feet, keeping hold of Johnny's hand, and smiles warmly at the boy. "I'm sure Mr. Malfoy will have your mum found soon enough, with Miss Granger's help, but let's get you fed first of all, hm?"

She turns her head to shoot a look, briefly, at the Auror that he chooses to ignore, instead favoring the kid with another nod. "I'll find her."

Johnny looks up and up at the much taller auror, then over at Miss Granger who gives him a little nod. He allows Cho to lead him off though his first words to her are, "But Buddy is going to be hungry too if Mum is losted. Who's going to feed Buddy?"

Hermione sighs tiredly, gets up from the rocker, shutting the picture book she was reading to the boy and setting it aside. "If you'll come with me there might be a photograph," she says sharply as she heads toward the back of the children's section where her office is discretely tucked away.

As Cho leads the boy off, she's quick to assure him that someone will be looking after Buddy, too, and for all that she completely loathes Malfoy, some part of her is relieved that he's on this case. She's seen firsthand that Slytherin stubbornness, after all.

Draco nods shortly at Hermione, his expression remote, silver eyes giving nothing away. "After you," he says, though he doesn't really need to, following her through the children's wing. "Vendworth said the kid's mother was in the habit of picking him up late?"

"Sometimes an hour or so, I believe she uses the story hour time to work," Hermione replies without looking back. Though there isn't much need for it her office is elaborately warded, though of course nothing that would hurt small children - it just ensures that small or large children won't be getting in to meddle with her things. The office once she's opened is wall-to-wall bookshelves, a heavy desk with a comfortable chair and a couple far less comfortable chairs across from it to which she nods for Malfoy to have a seat. Her desk is also scrupulously warded, but in a short time she produces a folder and starts going through pictures, which appear to be from a library event earlier in the year.

Draco pauses in the doorway, briefly, taking stock of her wards, sensing the needlessly-complex structure with just a little bit of concentration. It makes him smirk, faintly, because it's something she _would_ do, even though there's clearly no need for it. He glances at the chair and decides against sitting, instead leaning over the desk from the other side. Looming. "The name and the photograph - if there _is_ a photograph - aren't much to go on. You have no contact information whatsoever for this woman?"

"If she didn't put it this week in the logbook, perhaps it is in one of the past weeks. It is _supposed_ to be there in case of emergency," Hermione replies, ignoring the looming pointedly as she rifles through the folder eyeing each tot and the accompanying adult or adults before setting it aside. Finally she produces one with almost a triumphant air, she _knew_ there was one of Johnny's mum in there. "That's her." The woman has the same white blond hair as the boy did. She is perhaps a two or three years older than they are, though it is a bit difficult to tell. There is a certain careworn prettiness about her, beneath the smile as she looks at her boy and laughs at something he tells her lies worry and tiredness.

"If nothing else, surely the woman has a library card?" It's a library, and in Draco's experience people who frequent them tend to have cards, so they can get books out. Which generally requires leaving contact information, so they can track a person down if they're late returning said books. He takes the picture from her, eyes it appraisingly and then nods. "Pretty." If he has any other reaction to the photo, he's not sharing it with her.

"I'm sure Miss Vendworth is checking that for you as we speak, she's very thorough in that regard," Hermione replies. "I wouldn't have expected Johnny's mum not to come back for him. Some of the others, perhaps, but not his mother. It's always been very clear how much she cares about the boy." She's very concerned that the woman has met with an accident or some misfortune. "Keep the photo if it will help," she adds.

"It will, thank you." That's right, Draco Malfoy just _thanked_ a mudblood, Hell has very likely frozen over. "Right now we're treating this as missing persons, and what you've told me gives me no cause to think it might be otherwise." He's so damnably smug and self-assure, but there's plenty of reason for that arrogance.

"You'll want to check with Cho in case Johnny can explain where it is they live if an address doesn't turn up... he's got a dog. He's spoken of Buddy often enough," Hermione goes on, disgusted with his smugness as usual but concerned enough about the boy and his mother to push past it. "Buddy seems to be a big dog, from how Johnny talks the dog is his constant companion when home." She's wondered at times if the dog is also his babysitter at home, but she really doesn't know what the mother does for work and there's never been any sign of the father. Given the boy's age though it is entirely possible that the father was killed during the war years.

"I'm sure she'll be in touch." Draco has no doubts that he'll be hearing from Cho, though whether she'll tell him anything of use is hard to predict. "Anything else you can tell me about the mother? What about the father?" He can't read minds, so he has to ask these questions, to get her answers to them.

"His mother looks tired whenever I've seen her and she's thinner than that photograph suggests. Johnny doesn't come to story hour hungry, however, and as I mentioned they keep a dog. I don't know her profession. The boy is four and it's only been the mother who has brought him in, I get the impression that the father may be dead but it's hardly the thing to ask about particularly given his age. No one ever brings him but her, if she can't bring him he doesn't come that week. So it seems that there may not be other relations," Hermione says, frowning slightly as she puts her formidable cleverness to recalling every scrap she can about the boy and his mother. "It seems to me that when Johnny's spoken about home that he doesn't go outside much. It is quite possible that they live in one of the rougher areas of London, perhaps near the wharf."

In his head, Draco has already started putting some of the pieces together, but he pulls out a notebook from an inner robe pocket and begins jotting things down as she speaks. "Dead, or otherwise out of the picture," is his only interruption, reminding her that there could be other reasons why there's never been a sign of the boy's father. Meanwhile, he's wondering where the hell the head librarian went.

Hermione shrugs at the interruption. She too, is wondering what is keeping Miss Vendworth. The elderly witch does appear, finally, frowning down at the parchment in her hand as she peers at it through the wire-rimmed glasses she wears. "I do apologize, it took time to find the application and then I did wish to look because I was certain it could not be correct... but perhaps I'm wrong and these buildings are still standing? I could have sworn they were blown up in the chaos a few years back." The buildings in question were badly hit in one of the attacks, those still left are in hazardous condition. For someone to live there suggests desperate circumstances indeed.

Draco takes the parchment from her and has to bite back an oath. "Some of them are still standing, but that area's not what I'd call residential," he informs the woman, with a little growl in his voice. Damn it. With an effort, he tries to sound somewhat reassuring when he adds, "It's a place to start, though. Perhaps it's an old address, and there's forwarding information to be found." He doesn't exactly _sound_ optimistic, but it's an optimistic thing to say, which may come as a surprise to Hermione.

Hermione wanted a look at that address just based on Miss Vendworth's reaction to it - it isn't like the head librarian to show that much easily visible concern, though Hermione can read her moods at a glance. So she stands and comes around her desk to glance at it, in time for Draco's optimistic remark, which has her raising her eyebrows. The address in question increases the worry in _her_ eyes. Even before that last year when she was apparating all over the country and trying to keep Harry and Ron from getting themselves killed she kept a close eye on the papers. She's very aware of the nastiness of the particular attack in that area of London. If there are buildings standing they probably _should_ have been condemned.

Lifting his head, Draco meets Hermione's eyes, sees the worry there... and finds himself saying, again, "I will find her." He says it solemnly, quietly, and means every word of it. Then he asks of Miss Vendworth, "Can I keep this? It may come in useful." Handwriting analysis, for one, if they can get something to compare it to.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Miss Granger, make a copy for the records would you? If there's anything else just let us know. Miss Granger will show you out when you are ready," Miss Vendworth says, before she goes off again to finish with the closing chores that she attends to and leaving Hermione, once again, alone with Draco.

She looked up after seeing the address and somehow got caught in his gaze, but the head librarian's words snap her out of it. Hermione is surprised to find herself believing Draco of all people, but then she'd never have expected _him_ to be an auror at all or if he were, a bad one not the sort that goes looking for children's lost mothers. She holds out her hand for the application. "I'll just copy this, shall I?" It is an exceedingly simple spell, of course, but Miss Vendworth did ask her to do it. She hates asking anything of Draco Malfoy but even so there's a hesitant, "You'll keep m...us informed?"

Handing the document over wordlessly, Draco just watches her, momentarily awestruck by how completely predictable she is. The saying that Gryffindors wear their hearts on their sleeves is especially true in her case, it would seem, and he can tell by her body language alone the various directions her thoughts are going. He knows what the question will be before she even asks it, and remains silent, holding his reply until she's once again forced to look up at him, to demand it with her eyes (which he's sure she will), at which point he nods, holding his hand out for the parchment again. "Yes."

Hermione looks at the document in her hands even as her wand comes out and she casts the spell to replicate it. Certainly she's a Gryffindor, thus no coward, for she looks back up at she silence lingers not in mute appeal, but more as though daring him not to. Of course if he said no there's always the good chance that she would have felt she had to look into it herself. It certainly wouldn't be the first time Hermione Granger has gotten involved in investigating something dodgy. "Very good then, here you are," she says briskly, handing over the original and setting the duplicate on her desk to give back to Miss Vendworth in the morning.

That look in her eyes makes him smirk, because it's so very predictable, and so very Hermione. He folds the document in half and pockets it, along with his notebook, then produces a business card, which he offers her. "Call me if you think of anything else that might be relevant. And I'd appreciate if you didn't go digging around on your own."

Hermione takes the card gingerly and tucks it away, reminded with the smirk how very much she does NOT like him. She refrains from saying 'of course you would' in response and merely sniffs disdainfully. "I will certainly inform you if I think of anything further. I'll show you the way out. The front will be locked by now." The front was no doubt locked as soon as Cho departed with Johnny.

There's a tightening of his jaw, and Draco moves, getting between her and the door, his expression serious, silver eyes intense. "I mean it, Granger," he says, slowly, quietly, and there is a dangerous note in his voice that was never there when they were at school. "No haring off bravely into the night in search of little Johnny's mum. Leave it to the professionals."

Draco never learns, does he? He might as well have just thrown down a gauntlet. There's nothing worse than forbidding a Gryffindor to do something to ensure that they will want to. They are as contrary as cats (lions are cats after all, albeit big ones) and stubborn to boot. Hermione's eyes narrow as she looks up at him, "I wasn't planning to go haring off into the night, Malfoy," she says sarcastically, "now get out of my doorway." She didn't let him intimidate her in school and she's certainly not letting him intimidate her now.

"Or what? You'll hex me?" Draco sneers at her, and doesn't move, except to lean closer, his eyes narrowed and focused on her. "That ought to look good on your resume, hexing Law Enforcement. I'm not playing games with you, Granger, this is a serious matter, and if you go digging on your own you could screw up my investigation. _My_ investigation. I've said I'll find her, and I will."

Hermione refuses to give ground to him, despite the discomfort of him leaning closer to her. Oh how she'd like to wipe that sneer off his smug face. Her tone is positively glacial as she gives him a withering glare, "Hexing you would be childish. Get out of my doorway so that you can go find the woman. Clearly I was overestimating your sense, Malfoy. The woman left her child who she very much /values/ for over seven hours. Something is _wrong_, ergo for _your_ investigation you ought to be out investigating instead of revisiting your childhood. Perhaps you should check Mungo's first?"

"Do not," Draco hisses, "presume to tell me how to do my job. This isn't the first missing persons case I've been on, and I'm sure it won't be the last." He straightens, runs a slender hand through his short platinum locks, and says, "I want your word, Granger, that you're not going to get involved in this."

She continues to glare at him a long moment before giving him a very grudging, "Fine, though I'm surprised you would trust it." With worrying about Johnny's mother most the day and having to hide it from the children, most particularly Johnny, Hermione has got herself quite a headache in addition to being tired. She really wishes that Draco would just go away and look for the woman already. If he's as good at his job as he is at antagonizing her perhaps there will be word in the morning.

That smirk is back, and Draco says, "Gryffindor. Your word is almost as good as mine." It's true, too, Gryffindors almost always keep their word, and he inclines his head. For a moment, something flickers in his eyes (concern? no, can't be), and then it's gone, but he lingers long enough to add, "You look like shite, by-the-by. Go home, have a nice soak and a cuppa. I'll send word if I find anything." Then he's gone, passing through the door and slipping through the library, unerringly finding the back entrance without her help, as if he's done this dozens of times. That, or he's just _really_ well-prepared.

Hermione trails after to make sure the door gets locked after him and returns to her office, muttering under her breath. It isn't surprising really, Malfoy has been annoying her for years even if the past three have been blissfully free of his particular brand of annoyance. A glance in the mirror on the back of her door confirms that, while she isn't looking her best by any means, she doesn't look as awful as all that, leading to more sarcastic muttering. Not that she ever expects anything flattering out of Malfoy. She gathers up her things, wards her office again and after checking to see that she is, indeed the last leaving, sets the warding as she exits through the staff door. With a crack! she apparates to the alley nearest her flat and tiredly makes her way and despite the way Malfoy always makes her feel contrary, even takes his advice. Of course she was planning on a soak and a cuppa even _before_ he mentioned the idea. She's got a new wizarding romance to read.


	2. Chapter 02

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

**Chapter Two**

While Hermione is having her soak and a cuppa, Draco... starts with the hospitals. He would never admit, aloud, that Granger was right, but it would make things so much simpler if the woman were there. The photograph helps, and so does the Auror badge, but no one in the trauma ward has seen a woman of that description. Fortunately, she's also not in the morgue, but that part of the investigation takes him a couple of hours, and while he'd like to investigate the address as well, common sense suggests it would be better to tackle that area in the morning, when there might be neighbors about for him to question.

Meanwhile, Cho is slowly getting the little boy to trust her, enough that when she drops him off with the foster couple he's not pitching a fit. She's learned a few things from the boy about his mother, but a glance at her watch tells her it's too late to call Malfoy with them, and she decides to wait until morning.

'Pansy Parkinson's Tell-All Romance With the Slytherin Sex God' is the headline on the front page of the Daily Prophet, come morning. It's followed by an exclusive interview with famed author Pansy Parkinson, whose latest wizarding romance has hit #1 on the bestseller list, and among other things she discloses to the reporter the fact that many of her stories have been inspired by her relationship with Draco Malfoy, particularly this most recent book.

Early the next morning Hermione gets a message from Ginny with a request to have breakfast together. Despite the annoyance of the other girl's hyperactive owl waking her up she sends back a brief note agreeing. Having thrown down her romance novel in disgust last night, the main character looking all too much like a thinly disguised Draco Malfoy for her liking, bed came early and despite her worry over little Johnny's situation she appears at breakfast looking well rested.

Fortunately, Draco was already up and showered by the time Cho called his mirror, so he was able to reply to her with cool civility instead of a snarl. The news isn't all that great, though, as apparently little Johnny's 'special cup' went missing the day before his mum did, and their trip to the library had been using a different route, an 'adventure', the boy called it. He doesn't read the paper, preferring to get his news firsthand, so when he Apparates to the Ministry he's momentarily startled by the flock of reporters, and then aggravated when they orient on him.

"Mr. Malfoy, what is your take on the Parkinson interview?" asks one of them, getting all up in his personal space.

Draco blinks, then straightens, his expression going suddenly cold and his entire demeanor practically radiating 'don't fuck with me' vibes. "No comment," he says, biting the words off clearly and then shoving his way through the reporters to the door.

After a moment's pause, they chase after him, and another one says, "But -"

It's all she gets out, as the Auror turns, his eyes flinty and dangerous. "I said no. Comment. Don't make me repeat myself again." And then he's gone into the lift that will take him to the MLE floor, leaving the reporters rather confused behind him.

Hermione arrives at the Potter household just in time to hear Ginny sounding frighteningly like her mother as she scolds her one of her growing brood, "James, stop putting your porridge in your brother's hair or there will be no pudding with your dinner."

Hermione steps in through the door and takes in the sight of her godson, tsking, "I think Albus should make you a puddinghead in return, Jamesy my lad." she teases the boy. James isn't phased by scolding and chortles happily at the thought of pudding in his hair. He's a handful. "Morning Ginny."

"Hermione!" Ginny chirps pleasantly, going from mother to girl in the blink of an eye. "Seen the paper yet? Ron's going to be thrilled, he can up his fee to Parkinson if he keeps getting her coverage like this." She gestures toward a countertop that's un-porridged, where the Daily Prophet has been neatly folded, the headline face-down.

Draco, meanwhile, is in a foul mood, as stares and whispers follow him down the hallway, until he spots a colleague reading the offending article and snatches the paper away from him. His eyes darken with fury, his face stony and cold. "I'm going to kill her."

Hermione shakes her head, "Not yet, I usually read it when I get in before the library opens," she replies, though spotting the paper she makes her way over to where its sitting lifts it and promptly rolls her eyes. "It must be a slow news day," she says witheringly. Of course that doesn't stop her from reading the article, muttering disgustedly over it all the while.

"Wha- you can't do that," the man says, but Draco merely thrusts the paper back at him and stalks off down the hall, striding into his office and slamming the door, digging his mirror out and keying it to a specific sequence.

"What the FUCK were you thinking?" he roars, without preamble, the second Pansy picks up.

Pansy blinks sleepily at the mirror, as it's far too early for her to be up and about, and then smirks. "Good morning, lover boy," she purrs, and her voice evokes images in his head that he knows she will never write about. "You've seen the paper, I take it?"

Ginny lets out a dreamy sigh, fanning herself, and sits down in a chair, leaving James free to smear porridge into Albus' hair, which he does with a little squeal of glee. "Merlin, Hermione, I bet he's an absolutely /fantastic/ shag."

Albus stares gloomily at his brother, then his little hands pick up fistfuls of porridge and smear it into James face while he's still crowing. Just another typical breakfast in the Potter household.

Hermione meanwhile has finished the article and almost pours hot tea on herself instead of into the teacup at Ginny's remark. She stares at the other girl in patent disbelief. "Lies! It's a bunch of lies! Of course she's going to say he was her inspiration. She dated him so long. Granted I never thought Pansy had such a good imagination, but then I didn't even know she could write when we were in school. It's not as though she were on the newspaper staff or anything." Right then and there Hermione decides that her bookshelves at home need some selective purging.

"Pansy," says Draco, and in spite of himself he's purring right back at her. Damn it. He drags his free hand through his hair, and she sits up a little more as she watches, through the mirror, the platinum strands fall back into place. "Slytherin Sex God?" he finally asks, with a faint smirk, the fury dissipated.

She laughs softly, teeth flashing, and purrs back, "Absolutely." Her head tilts, and she arches a brow. "Did this come at a bad time for you? You're on a case."

It never ceases to amaze him that she knows this, that she can pick up on his moods so well, because nobody ever pegged Pansy as perceptive. Though he's learned never to underestimate her, and he nods. "I'm on a case."

"Oh, come on, Hermione, anybody THAT good-looking has GOT to be a wonder in the sack," Ginny admonishes, getting back to her feet with a sigh to separate the boys. "And you can't possibly deny that he's hot, even if you still hate him I know that you know that he's hot."

Hermione is not about to confirm that for Ginny, "That smug smirk of his ruins it," she insists, "as does the whole personality." It takes more to make a man hot than looks. Though compelled to be fair even if she won't tell _Ginny_ who would only take it as encouragement to drool over the man more, she will admit to herself at least that he does have very striking eyes. Not that Hermione likes how they catch hold of her, no. And his hair is wasted on a man, but so what? It doesn't mean she wants to shag him. Or read about someone else shagging him.

"Sorry, darling," Pansy purrs, but Draco can hear the sincerity in her sex-kitten voice, and he knows she means it. "I'll make it up to you? Dinner later, maybe?"

The purr, and the look in her eyes, promised more than just his stomach would be satisfied, and for a moment he was tempted. His last casual fling was weeks ago, and while he and Pansy had never really made each other at all happy, she certainly knew how to scratch that particular itch when he had it. An image of warm brown eyes flickered in his brain, and he sighed, shaking his head. "Some other time, maybe. I need to focus."

"According to Pansy, at least SOME of that arrogance is well-earned," Ginny points out, but then she leaves off digging and focuses on her boys, scrubbing faces and hands and releasing them into the backyard to play.

Hermione just shrugs. There's no arguing with Ginny when she's gushing about guys, whether its Harry, some romance hero or apparently Draco Malfoy in the paper. She sips her tea and wonders how soon she can claim work and go, even as she spreads some jam on her toast. She _had_ planned to tell Ginny about yesterday, but with the paper article it seems less of a good idea than it did. "So how's the baby's room coming, Ginny?" she asks by way of distraction.

"You know where to find me if you change your mind," Pansy tells Draco, before turning the mirror off, and it takes him a full second to snap out of the lust-induced spell her voice has woven.

He glances down at his trousers irritably. "Some days, it just doesn't pay to be one of the good guys," he drawls, before sprawling into his desk chair and pulling out his notebook so that he can work out his strategy for the day.

Ginny smiles warmly at Hermione, passing a hand over her belly, which is just starting to show signs of her third pregnancy. "Oh, well, you know how these things are, Hermione, one thing at a time."

"Well if you need some help you'll let me know of course. I can take the boys for an outing on one of my days off if you'd like," Hermione offers. "Do you think it will be a girl this time? Those two need a girl to keep them in line." she adds with a grin. Any boys of Harry Potter's will definitely require a lot of managing. It is just as well that Ginny seems intent on supplying them with some, though it does rather amuse her how quickly they've settled to creating their own private baby boom.

Finishing up paperwork, Draco hits the street, checking at Mungo's and then the Muggle hospitals just to make sure Johnny's mum hasn't turned up there overnight. The good news: she's still not in the morgue. The bad news: she's not anywhere else, either. So he heads for the address, in one of the worse neighborhoods of London, where most of the buildings have either been razed or condemned, canvassing the neighbors, and is lucky enough to locate an elderly woman in a tiny house that's miraculously still standing who remembers the woman and her boy.

"Moved a few months ago," she says, with a nod. "I might have an address. Won't you come in?"

"I certainly hope so," Ginny says with a sigh, looking out the window into the backyard where James is trying to reach through the child-safe wards on the garden to get at the bugs. "If you could take the boys just for an hour or three, later this week, that would be great. I need to paint the trim, and I don't dare open anything that messy with them underfoot."

"Of course I can. When will Harry be back? He should be around to help," Hermione says, thinking they would probably like a little alone time anyhow. "I can take the boys to the park." She'll probably end up feeding them ice cream after it. There's no fun in being an honorary aunt if you can't spoil the children when you have them she always figures.

Stepping into the old woman's house was a mistake, Draco decides, twenty minutes into teatime when there's still no address. While she's very sweet, and the tea and scones are good, sitting around and waiting has never really been his style (unless it's _his_ idea, then he can be patient all day long), and with missing persons cases time is of the essence. Eventually, though, his enforced patience is rewarded, and he secures a new address, thanking the woman and heading out to the new area.

"He'll be back Saturday night, and we'll have Sunday free." Ginny gives her a shrewd look. "If you take the boys after brunch on Sunday, I'll let you slip out of it, next week."

"Done. And now I really should get going. There's a couple boxes of new books that came in yesterday that I didn't have time to get to," Hermione replies, smiling. "Give your mum my best when you see her will you?" Hermione does like Ginny's mum well enough, even though they've had their differences at times. Hermione takes both the toast plate and the tea cup over to the sink before making her way back toward the door.

Apparating to the new neighborhood, Draco spends most of the afternoon knocking on doors, showing the photograph, talking to neighbors. And comes up with nothing, which is disturbing on a couple of levels. Johnny's mom didn't talk to the neighbors, apparently, and took care not to be seen, or else the woman was misinformed and he's been wasting his time. He knocks on yet another door, of a nondescript house with not much of a yard to speak of... and frowns when it moves beneath his hand. Drawing his wand, he pushes it open slowly. "Hello? MLE, anyone home?"

"Will do." Ginny rubs her stomach again, absently, then catches Hermione's elbow. "Hermione? Are you okay? I mean, really okay?"

"Of course I'm okay, Ginny. Why wouldn't I be?" It's Hermione's standard response in the same tone she usually uses when someone starts fussing. Never mind that she keeps it all to herself whether she's okay or not. Hermione Granger does not like to lose control in front of anyone, not even so much her friends these days. She's been a pillar of support for too long. She's pushed away some of the tentative overtures toward dating some of the boys she knew from school have made. Neville's a dear, but she never did fancy him like that. It occurs to Hermione that perhaps she is just a little lonely sometimes.

No response, to Draco's call, and he pushes the door open more, pausing when he sees a shape in the entryway, just beyond the swing of the door. A dog. Damn it. "MLE," he calls, again, already bringing his wand up to run tracing spells, to see if there's anyone in the house. Nothing. Whoever was here is gone, and he turns his attention to the dog, leaning down... and sees the shallow rise and fall of back and sides. It's alive, and he has no doubt that he's found Johnny's dog. Buddy. He digs out his mirror, keying in the sequence for the Ministry switchboard. "Malfoy. I need backup, and someone from RCMC." He relays the address, and cautiously steps further into the house, keeping alert for any signs that it might not be as empty as it seems.

"Hermione," Ginny chides, gently, "don't give me that rubbish. We've known each other entirely too long, and I know I haven't really been able to focus on you much lately, but I still know when something's wrong." She sighs, shaking her head. "I know you're over Ron, but I can't help but wonder why you haven't started seeing someone else. You aren't getting any younger, you know."

At that Hermione starts to laugh and once she starts she can't stop in a hurry, "Oh," she says finally when she gets her laughter and breathing under control, "oh Ginny, you sound just like your mum when you say that. I'm 21 not 40. Honestly. I'll see someone when there's someone I fancy seeing. Now I really ought to see about the books. Once children start arriving I'll be lucky to get a moment to myself until Fern comes to give me a lunch break." Fern being one of the assistant librarians.

Backup arrives, with an RCMC agent in tow, and by then Draco has already cleared the house, and knows that whoever was here was looking for something, though they were careful about covering their tracks. The traces are subtle enough that most people (even most of his colleagues) would miss them, but when he points them out to the backup team they agree with him. Back at the Ministry, the case is restructured, but Draco remains as the lead Auror, which means he gets to give orders to the rest of the team. He doesn't gloat, for a wonder, instead insisting on doing the legwork himself, he'll call the others if he needs a hand with something.

Ginny blushes as red as her hair, and shakes her head. "I just want to see you happy, Hermione. We all do." She gives her friend a careful hug, starts to say goodbye... and then goes tearing out of the house to separate the boys, as James is trying to feed Albus bits of grass.

Hermione shakes her head a little as she makes her way down the walk, out of the yard and CRACK! apparates to the alley behind the museum where she gives a nod to the elderly wizard who serves as the day watchman at the library. "Morning Mr. Peppersmith," she says politely allowing him to pass her in.

"And a very good morning to you, Miss Granger! Those young men still beating a path to your door?" he asks hopefully. For some reason he persists in thinking of Hermione as the femme fatale of the library... perhaps because she's the only librarian under 40.

Hermione just chuckles as she always does and says in an enigmatic tone, also as she always does, "That would be telling." And then she heads to her office and the awaiting boxes.

Heading down to Magical Records in search of little Johnny's birth certificate, Draco hits the first of many brick walls. There's no record of any child by that name, which means either the child isn't magical or his mother's using an alias. Since the kid was left at a freaking wizarding library, he decides to go with option 2: mum's using an alias. Fan-bloody-tastic. With a snarl, he settles down to go through all the certs of all the boys around Johnny's approximate age, to see if he can run down the right one, calling down the rest of his team to help because it's going to require a lot of calling by mirror or floo.

On her way to her office Hermione spots Fern and asks if there have been any messages. She isn't really expecting it but despite that she can't help hoping though she internally chides herself for it. At the negative reply she just nods, though her expression darkens when the assistant librarian starts gushing about the Parkinson article. Claiming work and a need for coffee Hermione takes herself off to the coffeepot only to find Miss Vendworth... reading the article and sighing over it. It is clearly going to be a trying day for Hermione.

"Just think Miss Granger, that _man_ was here just yesterday..."

Hermione murmurs something unintelligible and flees quickly back to her office before more of the staff can start gushing about that article. Sheesh.

Fortunately, the investigation is leaving little time for Draco to worry about the fallout from the newspaper article, though his team keeps eying him as if they expect him to mate with the mousy little records clerk right there on one of the desks. Assholes. Finally, he growls, tells them to keep searching, and goes out for coffee... and finds himself amidst entirely too many women (and some men) who have discovered a new fascination with the Slytherin Sex God. Augh.

Meanwhile Hermione, save when her co-workers come through either sighing or giggling as best fits individual personalities, is mostly putting the "Slytherin Sex God" out of her head as she unpacks the boxes of books with the enthusiasm of a child at Christmas time. New books are always exciting and she always has a hard time choosing which to read to the children next. She starts getting them into the inventory so that they can be put to the shelves soon and makes some selections to be put aside for story hours. When lunch rolls around she puts in a call, not to Draco since she's thought of nothing more as yet, but rather to Cho. She doesn't particularly _want_ to talk to the other girl, but she does want to check on Johnny.

Cho is working through her lunch hour, finishing up paperwork on half a dozen cases, but is polite enough when Hermione calls. She assures the librarian that the boy is fine, having checked up on him just that morning, that he's still worried about his mum, and relays what little information she was able to give Draco. Who, she tells Hermione, was already up and ready for work bright and early this morning when Cho called him. "He's committed to this case, Hermione. He'll find Johnny's mum."

Hermione is reminded, once again, of how little she likes Cho, but manages to politely thank her for the information anyhow. She gets a sandwich from the vendor's cart just outside the library and a fizz, taking both back to her desk with her. She'll need the fortification before the afternoon story group. The ones scheduled for today are her ten-year-olds, and they always have so many questions. Of course, they are also great fun. They just take a lot of energy.

Energy. Energy is what Draco needs in order to keep the wandering hands away from his arse. Pansy totally owes him a whole hell of a lot more than a shag, after this. He returns from his coffee break even more frazzled than when he'd left, and shoos the rest of his team out for lunch. Along with the mousy file clerk, so there's no gossip about THAT. Augh.

Finishing her sandwich, Hermione turns Draco's card over and over in her hands, but in the end she puts it back in her desk drawer. He said to call if she had more information, not to ask how it was going and anyway with that stupid article he might get entirely the wrong idea. From the shelf nearest her desk she takes down her much beloved personal copy of Hogwarts, a History and finds the book mark that holds her place and starts to read over what today's selection shall be for the soon-to-be first years.

The team made some decent progress, narrowing the field to a couple of dozen possible kids, and Draco goes through the papers one by one, making more calls, and taking notes. He'd promised Granger he'd keep her informed, and he intends to, but he hasn't really _found_ anything yet, so there's no point in calling her. Besides, she's probably busy reading to snot-nosed kids, or something, and then there's no telling _how_ she's going to treat him now that Pansy's 'tell-all' is in the papers.

Her lunch hour over, Hermione stands and stretches before leaving her office, book in hand. The wards go back up and she wanders through the children's section straightening a book here, helping a young guest find a selection there as she slowly makes her way over to the story area. She smiles at a few familiar faces sitting in a couple bean bag chairs in the reading area, no doubt they'll be coming over to join her on the carpet soon. She takes her seat in the rocking chair and just waits.

Once enough of the children have arrived she begins, reading from the book a while and then spinning further tales of life at school that have the children hanging on her every word with rapt interest. Afterwards she allows them to ask questions and in her way assures them that while they might be a bit homesick, they are going to have such fun!

It's late afternoon, early evening by the time Draco finally sits back with a much-shorter list, and he frowns at it. Something about one of the names on the list... he sifts through the documents again, then straightens abruptly. "Son of a fucking bitch," he mutters to himself, scaring the daylights out of the poor file clerk, who has crept back in at some point. He apologizes, thanks her for her time, and makes his way back up to the MLE floor, swearing under his breath as he goes.

Hermione finishes up with her ten year olds and sends them off to choose books. Once they are settled up she glances at her wristwatch and frowns a little over how late it's getting. If he was keeping her appraised there should have been a message by now... in her opinion anyway. And if there had been a message, she knows she'd have heard about it with how the rest of the staff has been positively _cooing_ over the man today. And worse, asking her if _she_ knew him in school with that expectant air. Hermione sighs as she tidies some shelves that were disordered by the youthful high spirits now making their way to check out their books and deliberately tries to put the man back out of her mind. Instead she heads back to her desk to make out a grocery list. Crookshanks would like some fish.

After some rather heated words with his superior, Draco shut himself in his office, spent a few minutes calming the hell down, and made one last mirror call. It goes about as well as expected, and there is some mention made of having him sacked, but by the end of it he's looking smug again. Hot damn. With this new development in mind, but presently out of his hands at least until tomorrow, he heads out of the office, checking his watch as he goes. Hermione will still be at the library, and since he's not sure whether she'll be surrounded by droolers, he decides to head over there in person. Completely unaware of the fact that a: librarians are bound to read romance novels, as they're books, and b: most of her co-workers have been COOING over him all day.

He's only lucky in that more of her co-workers are past sixty, it's only the 40 to 60 set that might try to tweak his cheeks... and not the ones on his face. But they are librarians and on the whole they tend to just coo. His first indication that they have seen the article, oh yes they have, comes in the form of Miss Vendworth beaming girlishly at him and insisting that he have a tin of biscuits. "Young men need to keep up their energy," she admonishes wisely with a knowing twinkle in her eyes behind those wire rims.

Hermione is blissfully away from the upheaval his arrival causes, finishing up her grocery list and contemplating what take-away to stop at after she stops at the grocer. Her office door is open, but not all of the way.

He's going to kill her. Draco suppresses thoughts of murdering Pansy for at least the fiftieth time today, smiling politely at Miss Vendworth and accepting a biscuit and trying not to choke on it when she gives him that knowing look. "Is Miss Granger in her office?" he asks, his tone bored and professional. "There are some additional questions I need to ask her."

Asking for Miss Granger prompts much twittering amidst the assistant librarians who are, lucky for Draco, BEHIND the check out counter. "I don't believe that she's left yet," comes Miss Vendworth's response. Mr. Peppersmith is grinning like a fool and Hermione is gathering up her purse even as they are informing Draco of her whereabouts. It's actually time for her to leave, so she's stepping out of her office and in the process of warding it. Her hours vary day to day.

"Thank you, ma'am." Draco's eyes narrow a little at the twittering, and he all but stalks through the children's section of the library. Is there no one in the city who's read that ridiculous article? Except, he has to admit, it's not all that ridiculous... because it's true. He'd just rather the whole freaking wizarding world hadn't been informed. Spotting Hermione as she's locking up, he drawls, quietly but polite as can be, "Granger. May I have a word?"

Hermione doesn't jump, though she wasn't expecting his voice. A quick glance shows that Fern has already escaped the check out desk and is heading this way. So despite her better judgment she says, "Of course, I was about to go though and I'm sure that Trudy has told simply _everyone_ that you're in the building by now. If you'd like you can walk with me. I suspect the office might just get mobbed otherwise." It must be her Gryffindor rescuing complex kicking in. She should just leave Draco to the tender mercies of her co-workers, but... her sense of humor has kicked in and its occurred to her that he's probably had a hell of a day.

Draco halts, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, looking irritated. "Fucking Pansy," he mutters, under his breath. With a sigh, he rakes that same hand through his hair, then shakes his head. "This isn't the sort of discussion I care to have on the run, Granger. Unless you'd rather I follow you home, I suggest you open your office."

Hermione turns a moment to give Fern a quelling look and the older woman tries to look like she was innocently trying to shelve books, well aware that she's fooling no one. With a wry smile, Hermione shrugs and opens her office again. "Suit yourself," she replies, thinking he'll be lucky if he isn't surrounded the moment he steps out of the office. Even if she were inclined to let him in her flat, which she isn't, she's too aware of the embarrassing amount of romance novels in her large collection of books and not all of them are hidden away in her bedroom.

Presently, Draco is more concerned about this case than his own well-being, though he's not going to analyze that overmuch. He steps in after her and closes the office door, pausing long enough to add his own wards to the ones already in place before turning to look at her. "Johnny's mum was using an alias," he says, without preamble.

Hermione quirks an eyebrow at the additional warding, even while her professional eye appreciates the skill of it. She makes her way over toward her desk and sets down her purse before turning back towards him. "Using an alias? And now she's disappeared... I don't like it." Not that she liked it before. Clearly something has happened to the woman. "She's not dead?" While she phrases it as a question it comes out more a statement. She thinks he would have told her first if that were the case.

"She's not turned up in any of the morgues, so far," Draco replies, his silver gaze coolly looking around the room before he transfigures one of the not-so-comfy chairs into something more suitable to sit in, settling into it afterward. "I was able to locate the house, and the dog. Buddy's fine, by-the-by, I understand RCMC was able to reunite him with his boy this afternoon." That would have been after her talk with Cho, though he doesn't know she's talked to Cho. "But I don't think she's dead, no. The evidence suggests otherwise."

There is of course good reason that the chairs across from her aren't terribly comfortable, Hermione doesn't encourage the assistants to linger to gossip. Uncomfortable chairs are a subtle detriment to that. Hermione sits down again in her own chair, "Oh good, he'll do better with Buddy there though he must be so anxious. I don't think he's ever been away from his mum this long before." Aside from that comment, however, she waits expectantly.

"Someone was in the house," Draco says, his expression grim. "They were looking for something. Or someone. I think they may be after the boy." He pauses, then leans forward, toward her, the quicksilver eyes intense. "According to his birth certificate, Johnny's father was Tierius Firendrade."

Hermione's eyes narrow. There's something about the name that rings familiar. It isn't the first name. It takes her a minute and then she frowns as she recalls why, "There was a Larus Firendrade that died in that particular mess that destroyed those buildings with the original address. A relation perhaps?" Died in _creating_ that particular mess she could have said. Meanwhile her sympathy and concern is growing for Johnny's poor mother. Someone trying to snatch your child? That could definitely make a mother try and hide and lay low. "No wonder she always looked so tired and worried," Hermione doesn't realize she's said it aloud until she looks back at him again.

"Larus was the younger brother," Draco says, quietly. "Tierius was the elder. I called the Firendrade house, earlier, but didn't get anywhere. I suspect I'll have to go in person, and I doubt that's where they're keeping her, but it's the only lead I've got, right now. If I'm wrong, and the Firendrades aren't involved... well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

A lot of thoughts go through Hermione's head as she listens to him, foremost the fervent hope that they won't _kill_ the woman to get her child from her. That hope is of no help to the man sitting across from her however. "If someone is trying to get the child the foster family should be aware so measures can be taken to make sure they don't manage a snatch now if they find out he's there." Pause. "Though I'm sure you've thought of that already, of course."

"Its been handled," Draco allows, with a slight incline of his head. "My superiors are less than thrilled, the Firendrades still have some political contacts. Which their butler attempted to inform me when I called their house mirror, earlier," he adds, looking just a hair smug.

Hermione relaxes just a little when he says that it has been handled as it occurs to her that Draco actually IS good at what he does. It leaves her a little at a loss, being more used to her friends who usually do need a nudge in the right direction. "So long as the boy is kept safe," she says. She thought about offering to keep him until they found his mother when it came up so Johnny would have a familiar face, but thought better of it since it would have meant long days at the library for the boy. As much as he likes visiting, she knew the previous day was very difficult for him and wouldn't have put him through more like it.

It amuses him, watching her realize and acknowledge to herself that he can actually handle himself without her help. Draco's expression is quite serious, though, as he nods, "The boy's safety is our first priority, and he's been placed with people who know what they're doing. It may take another day or so to locate his mum, though. Based on the way the house was searched, it was a professional job."

Her reaction isn't particularly surprising however much it amuses him. "Thank you for letting me know," Hermione says. It hasn't occurred to her yet, though it will before she departs the library, but the ones after the boy may have figured out his last whereabouts by now. The thought won't phase her when it does occur to her though she will have to have a word with Miss Vendworth about the inadvisability of giving information to anyone who _isn't_ Draco about the boy.

"Granger." Draco is still a step ahead of her, so that thought has already occurred to him. "Even if they haven't gotten anything out of the woman, it's likely they've backtracked her this far. It's possible they may come after you. Be careful." He gets to his feet, transfigures the chair back the way it was. "I'd just as soon not have my caseload doubled." The implication, of course, is that she can't take care of herself.

Hermione rises to her feet as well, "Understandable if they aren't paying you overtime," she replies glibly. She's faintly surprised at the warning, though his addition makes it make more sense. She certainly wouldn't expect tender concern over _her_ from Draco Malfoy. Gathering up her things again she says, "I ought to have a word with Miss Vendworth so that she doesn't give out information about the boy unless it's to you."

"If I was interested in what the job paid, I wouldn't be working for the Ministry," Draco shoots back, lip curled in a sneer. "Best make that me or someone from my team." Which probably sounds even more bizarre, as he's never really been the type to be part of a team.

For what cannot possibly be the first time Hermione thinks what a pity it is that Draco hasn't enough sense of humor to recognize joking when he hears it. "Well come along then and you can give her the list of your team," she says without commenting on how odd it is to see him as part of a team.

Turning toward the door, Draco draws his wand so he can lower the wards he'd put up... and then he proceeds to pick hers apart, too, while he's at it. Because he can. Then he opens the door and gestures for her to take the lead. "After you."

Hermione gives him a look when he picks apart her wards too. Tempting as it is as she steps through the door of her office she resists the urge to let the assistants lingering outside it mob the man and shoos them off. "I thought you were going to shelve those books Fern... and Violet that cart is from the biographies section..." Guilty looks from a couple of the others suggest that they too were deliberately lingering for when 'the Slytherin sex god' reappeared. It's all Hermione can do not to roll her eyes as she waits until he's out, flicks the lights off in her office with her wand and re-wards it. Then she strides back to the front desk to find Miss Vendworth.

Draco follows Hermione out of the office, his expression cold and professional with just a trace of irritation. Fucking Pansy. At least in the children's section, none of the offending novels are on display, though the same can't be said for the main foyer, where the head librarian has set up a counter with 'London's own Pansy Parkinson'. Dead center is the most recent book, and this is the first he's seen it, the sight of the cover giving him pause. "I should sue her," he muses, under his breath. "Copyright infringement, or something."

Hermione could tell him that it is worse than the cover, given that the hero's name is Drake Malloy, but she doesn't. Because, of course, that would suggest she read it and really she didn't... instead she threw it across the room. She makes her way around a cluster of middle aged witches that are standing near the display asking one of the assistants in hopeful tones if there's going to be a visit by the author or... then one of them spots Draco and it is frighteningly reminiscent of teen age witches at a concert for the squealing that goes on. One even faints, valiantly caught by Mr. Peppersmith. "Oh well done," Hermione tells him with a grin.

Miss Vendworth makes her way over, "Ladies! This is a library. You will cease that noise at once or you will have to leave!" she announces in her most quelling tones.

Somehow, the fact that they're middle aged just makes it that much worse, for Draco. If it were young, pretty witches mobbing him, this might be halfway tolerable. He tries not to smirk at Miss Vendworth's no-nonsense tones, and draws himself straighter, putting on his best Malfoy expression, the one his father always wore when he was intimidating someone. "I suggest you listen to Miss Vendworth," he intones, silvery eyes flashing darkly.

Hermione tries not to smirk at the fangirling middle aged women. It's funny, but at the same time it isn't. She helps Miss Vendworth clear them off keeping a rein on her amusement. "Miss Vendworth, we need a word with you," she tells her boss politely.

"Of course, Miss Granger. If you and Mr. Malfoy will come this way?" With a final quelling glance the head librarian leads the way to her office.

"Certainly," Draco says, nodding, his expression still set and stone-like, and for a moment he looks very much like his father. He follows after the librarians, again cursing in his head Pansy and the article, and is grateful that at least he's not _dressed_ like a Slytherin Sex God. Sometimes the uniform, such as it is, can be beneficial.

Miss Vendworth opens a door behind the checkout desk and ushers them in, shutting the door behind them and gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk. She readjusts her glasses as she takes her own seat, hands folded primly before her. "What can we do for you, Mr. Malfoy?"

Settling easily into one of the chairs, Draco inclines his head politely. "In the course of my investigation, it has been determined that the missing woman has been abducted, for reasons that I am unable to disclose at this time," he says, his tone completely professional. "It's possible that the person or persons responsible may have learned that her son was left here, and they may come 'round inquiring after him. I'd like to request that you don't give out any information, regarding the boy or his mother, unless the person asking is myself or one of the other Aurors on my team. I'll provide you with names, of course."

"Abducted! Oh my stars. How terrible. Of course we shan't give out information. I will speak to the staff about it," Miss Vendworth says. She reaches in a drawer and pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill. "If you will just list approved names I will make sure that they are aware of who is approved for speaking to about the matter."

Hermione just listens. Obviously Miss Vendworth knows she knows about it, but there isn't anything to say really is there?

Leaning forward to pick up the quill, Draco lists three other Aurors after his own name, his handwriting neat and elegant. "Also, if anyone should come 'round inquiring, it would help if you could get as much information about them as possible. Though of course not if you feel it might put your staff at risk."

Miss Vendworth reaches over and pats Draco's hand, "Don't you worry Mr. Malfoy, anyone asking questions will probably think we're a bunch of dotty old ladies... well, not _you_ Miss Granger."

Hermione can't help it, her lips twitch into an amused smile, "Oh, no, of course not."

Draco casts a polite smile at Miss V, and suppresses the urge to say something snarky at Hermione's expense, instead offering simply, "Of course." He gets to his feet, his business concluded, and nods at them both. "I'll let you know how it goes, Granger. Keep in mind what I said."

Hermione nods. "I'll see you in the morning, Miss Vendworth," she says. The woman nods, "Give yourself an extra half hour, you're leaving late today." Hermione smiles genuinely, "Thank you." She gets up from the chair and makes her way toward the door, ready to go get her errands done and head home. Malfoy even gets a small, cautious smile. "Thank you for keeping me informed, Malfoy," she says politely.

Glancing at her sidelong, Draco gives her a small smile in return. "I keep my promises, Granger. I'll be in touch. Take care of yourself." That said, he strides past her, out to the sidewalk, and Apparates back to the Ministry, where he has paperwork to finish up.

Hermione meanwhile, goes out the back entrance and apparates to an alley near where she lives, but doesn't go straight home. Instead she runs her errands and returns laden with groceries. Her wand is in her hand but she doesn't move it just silently casting in lieu of using her key and juggling the groceries turns the doorknob. What happens next comes quickly. She spots Crookshanks lying as though dead on the floor and even as she's dropping her groceries and getting a better grip on her wand ready to spin and cast she gets hit with a stupefy. It's the last thing Hermione Granger remembers as she hits the floor.


	3. Chapter 03

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

**Chapter Three**

Early the next morning, Draco stands in front of his wardrobe, wondering what the hell to wear for the day. While there's no specific Auror 'uniform', as such, there's a dress code, but he's not sure he should go that route, since he can't really make this visit in an official capacity. Civilian attire, then, and his lips curve in a smirk as he selects trousers, shirt, and traditional robes. Might as well go all out, as they say.

Somewhere in the warehouse district three men showing multiple claw marks are being berated by their boss. "Damn it! I can't believe not one of you recognized her. They said she was a _librarian_ and you bring me that Potter kid's best friend. Are you sure you got the right girl?" Yeah, he's not happy.

Neither is Hermione who wakes up to find herself locked in a tiny dark room, tied up and with no idea where she is or how she got there. To make matters worse she finds that she can't say a thing and be heard. Someone has clearly cast Silencio on her. A glimmer of memory flickers in her aching head and her eyes turn momentarily miserable before lighting with fury. Crookshanks!

Slytherin green with accents of silver, that's Malfoy's chosen colors for the day, and he looks damn good in them. Before heading out to the Firendrade Estate, however, he stops in at St. Mungo's, on the off chance Johnny's mum has turned up. No such luck, and with a resigned sigh and a determined expression, he Apparates out to the countryside, where Ioain and Letitia Firendrade have their stately manse.

The boss sends his grunts to clean themselves up and then dispatches them with rapid orders. One is sent to make sure that they have the right girl and another is sent to see what information he can weasel out of the other librarians. For now he leaves the troublesome Miss Granger who made the papers a little too often to stew.

Fortunately, the estate is isolated enough that Draco's not mobbed upon his arrival, and he strides up to the gates, imperious and haughty. "Draco Malfoy to see Mr. and Mrs. Firendrade on a matter of the utmost importance," he barks at the servant in the gatehouse, who looks at him blankly. With a snarl, he waves the man toward the manse. "Go announce me already, I haven't got all day!" The servant vanishes, and Draco swears under his breath.

Hermione is worried and furious, though secure in the knowledge that she can't possibly tell them anything because she doesn't know where little Johnny is. To distract herself from thinking about how her poor defenseless kitty looked she starts thinking her way through all the laws the criminals broke working her way through statutes of wizarding law. It's a way to pass the time.

Once his arrival has been properly announced, the servants are quick to usher Draco through the gates and into an overly plush and frilly sitting room, where Letitia Firendrade sits upon a divan. In her day, she was quite the beauty, but that day has long since gone, and now she's overweight and ponderous with it, and he suppresses a flicker of instant dislike for the woman. "Draco Malfoy, as I live and breathe! So sorry to hear about what happened to your father, dear. He was a good man."

At the library one flunkey is getting absolutely nowhere with Miss Vendworth. "I'm sorry, dear? What did you say your name was?" He repeats the cover name and she gives him a really dotty smile. "And what did you want again?" He tries to explain again only to have the old lady look at him in utter confusion, "Oh, I'm afraid I couldn't possibly tell you anything about that. There are far too many tykes that come for our story hours to remember one. No, I couldn't possibly. Oh! And there's Mr. Peppersmith. He's quite dashing, you know. Oh, Mr. Peppersmith! I believe this gentleman was just leaving!"

Lucius Malfoy, a good man? Draco stares at Letitia, unable to hide the shock because her words catch him completely off guard. What the fuck? Clearing his throat, he schools his features once more and nods. "Of course. I didn't come here to discuss my father, though, Aunt Lottie."

The look on Miss Vendworth's face as she enters her office once Mr. Peppersmith has evicted the man is anything _but_ dotty. "Fern, did Miss Granger arrive yet?" she barks out, sounding more like an efficient drill sergeant than a dotty old lady.

"No, Miss Vendworth, and she's not answering her mirror, either," Fern replies.

Miss Vendworth frowns. It is entirely unlike Hermione Granger to be this late, much less to not relay a message if she were going to be late. The elderly witch pulls out a parchment and begins sketching the man and jotting appropriate details down about him and his inquiries, mulling the matter over in her mind.

"No, I thought not." Letitia nods sagely, gesturing with a beringed hand toward an overstuffed chair. "Do sit down and have some tea, won't you? Ioain is out of town, I'm sorry to say, I know he'd have loved to catch up with you. So why _have_ you come to visit me, dear?"

Picking up the teacup, Draco doesn't sip from it, instead watching her from over the rim as he says, "I'm here about Tierius. Or, rather, his son."

Miss Vendworth picks up her mirror and leans back in her chair, "Cassie? It's Elmira Vendworth. Could you just put a message through for me to one of your boys to call over here? Why, yes, Draco Malfoy." Pause. "No, though he is a handsome young man, isn't he? He's working on something over here and I have some information for him." Pause. "Much obliged and do _try_ to keep your hands off the lad. You know how sensitive they are at that age."

Letitia freezes, then sets her tea aside and smiles coldly at her cousin's son. "Yes, I had heard you were on the case of Jane's disappearance." She clucks her tongue disapprovingly. "So sad. And the boy is so young. He really should be with family in such a trying time as this, don't you agree?"

Draco's jaw tightens, and he sets the untouched tea back on the table. "He should be with his _mother_," he replies coldly.

Hermione hears a scritching sound and shifts in her bonds, assessing them, but they are too tight. She can't even feel her hands which isn't good at all. Her feet aren't much better but she shifts them as best she can wondering how long they're going to just leave her in here. The thought of rats doesn't horrify her, but it doesn't thrill her, either. These aren't likely to be someone's pet variety and rats carry disease. Ugh.

The Firendrade woman tsks again, shaking her head sadly. "I would have thought you, of all people, would appreciate the importance of family. The boy is of Firendrade descent, he should be raised properly."

Draco gets to his feet, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Is that what you thought?" he says, his tone frosty. Then he steps toward her, his voice lowering to a growl. "Where is she? What have your people done with her?"

The door to the storage room swings open letting in dim light and a menacing figure stands in the doorway. Hermione can't see his face in the shadows but the tone doesn't reassure her at all.

"Well... if it isn't Miss Granger... if librarians had looked like you when I was a boy perhaps I'd have finished school..." She hides her fear behind a glare. "What, no words, my dear?" It's all soft menace and threat. "I'm sure a smart girl like you will have lots to say, but I think you need a little more time alone to think about your choice of words. Yes, I think giving you back your voice at this time would be... imprudent."

Something knocks her over, though not a hand touches her and she struggles against the bonds again. The door clicks shut, the lock falling back into place. She struggles to sit up again. Ugh. That voice. It makes her feel all dirty and he didn't even touch her.

With a sigh punctuated by another tsk, Letitia shakes her head. "I don't know what you're talking about, dear. Surely, you can't think that Ioain or I had anything to do with that poor woman's disappearance. We simply want what's best for our grandson."

Draco takes a step toward her, and she flinches, and then there's a chirp from his pocket, and he frowns. "One moment. This isn't over, Lottie." Digging out his mirror, he steps out to the hall and flips it open. "Malfoy."

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but Miss Vendworth called, from the library. It sounded urgent." Cassie, the MLE's resident secretary. Draco frowns. "Thank you, Cassie. I'll call her straightaway." Lottie will have to wait. With a sigh, he keys in the frequency to the librarian's mirror.

It's an indication of how concerned the head librarian is that she answers the mirror on the first chirp. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy, thank goodness. I have a sketch for you of a man who came in to inquire about the boy... but it seems your concerns may have been correct. Miss Granger has not come in today, and she is most regular in her duties. There has been no note or mirror call about it, either. I am most concerned." The elderly woman certainly looks it. She's been staying in her office waiting for a return call.

"I see. Thank you for your call, Miss Vendworth, I'll send one of my team down for the sketch. And I'll drop by Granger's flat, see if I can locate her. I'll find her." Draco looks grim, but he also looks sincere, an expression which would no doubt surprise Hermione if she were there to see it.

"Do you need her address, Mr. Malfoy? I have it here from the employee records," Miss Vendworth replies, anxious to be of help. She can't think what could possibly keep Hermione from calling in if she were able, ergo something _must_ be wrong. If Draco answers the affirmative she'll provide the address. Otherwise, she settles back to add any additional information she can think of to the notes accompanying the sketch so that she might give it to the Auror who comes to pick it up.

"Yes, if you have it there." Draco doesn't, in fact, need Hermione's address, but he has a feeling that it'll cause less gossip if he doesn't admit that fact. He nods again and rings off, returning to the sitting room to stalk over to his father's cousin. "I will find her," he seethes, through gritted teeth, "and I will see to it that you will _never_ have the boy. Good day, Aunt Lottie. I'll see myself out."

Elmira sets the mirror down and, recalling the direction the man went after Mr. Peppersmith evicted him from the library adds that to the notes. She puts the lot into an envelope, though she gives the sketch another thoughtful look and a quick nod before doing so and makes her way majestically to the front desk where she can go back to monitoring her realm. When the Auror comes after checking his identification carefully she hands over the envelope and settles back to wait.

Upon leaving the Firendrade estate, Draco first calls one of the other Aurors on his team to pick up the things from Miss V. Then he Apparates to Hermione's building, directly into the hall outside her flat. Noting the absence of wards, he frowns, and cautiously pushes the door open, wand at the ready. The loud, angry yowl is all the warning he gets before a flash of ginger fur leaps at his face, and he ducks just enough that the cat's claws only graze his forehead, drawing blood. "Fuck!" he swears, aiming a Stupefy at the animal, then lifting a hand to check the wound. It's not severe, though, and he sweeps his gaze around the area, noting a few small signs of a struggle. He tightens his grip on his wand and proceeds deeper into the apartment, making sure it's empty before locating the woman's hairbrush. "Idiots," he hisses, plucking several long strands from it.

Hermione shifts again, but it is no use, the ropes won't loosen their hold no matter what she does. She's had plenty of time for thinking as the sinister man suggested she would and she's reached a few conclusions. Unfortunately none of those conclusions actually help with getting her out of the mess she's in. She's hungry and thirsty and, yes, a little bit frightened though damned if she'd admit it. Clearly, they made a professional job out of snatching her. They've left her to herself to let imagination do its work for them. Why would they leave her with not even water if it wasn't to make sure she would drink something when they offer it? The answer comes to her almost at once. Veritaserum. She sets her mind to recalling everything she can about the potion, including resisting it.

One of the items missing from Johnny's house had been his mother's hairbrush, but the thugs were too busy snatching Hermione to remember to do the same with hers, and Draco stalks out of the building, the hairs held firmly in one hand. He Apparates, not to the Ministry but to the house he maintains on the outskirts of London, loping up the stairs to the rather elaborate laboratory. Potions was one of his better classes, and not entirely due to Snape's favoritism, and in the years since Voldemort's defeat has developed a number of new potions formulae, as well as improving several existing ones. Lips curving in a grim smile, he stalks toward the well-stocked shelves and starts assembling what he'll need for the tracking potion, carefully setting the hairs in a container.

Sounds echo strangely in a warehouse and it becomes clear to Hermione now that they didn't bother put silencing wards on the storage closet they are keeping her in, no doubt secure that the Silencio and tight bindings will keep her quiet. She doubts that there is anyone but villains to hear her anyhow. The voices she's hearing don't come to her whole, but rather in broken bits and pieces and she doubts that they realize she can hear them.

"...think the boss will..."

"...play with her?"

"...other one. Back later..."

Her head drops against her knees. _Say something useful!_ her mind rages at them, but it is just the same sort of almost gossipy snippets as before.

"...damn cat..."

She listens intently after that, but doesn't catch anything more about the cat, either, and the voices fade again.

Time is often of the essence, when it comes to missing persons, and Draco knows this better than most. The tracking potion is designed to be quick to brew, for that very reason, and before long he's adding the strands of hair and smirking in satisfaction at the finished potion. "Essence of Granger," he muses, dipping the crystal pendant into the still-bubbling potion. There's a brief flash, and he draws it out quickly, then brings it up to eye level, watching the arrow form within it. He draws the chain over his head, the pendant falling to just below his collarbones, and sets out to locate the missing librarian.

Hermione keeps listening, but the voices can't be heard any more. She's starting to feel a little light-headed. She shifts her feet again, trying to keep some feeling in them and shifts herself as best she can to try and explore her small prison. She isn't sure her hands can hold anything since she can't feel them but perhaps she can find something to cut through the rope. It's doubtful. Her captors were no doubt thorough in removing anything useful, but she should at least try - should have tried hours ago no doubt. Her head isn't feeling very clear, there's a peculiar light-headedness to how she feels reminding her that she never got to eat the supper she picked up on the way home from the grocer yesterday? She presumes it was yesterday. It could have been longer. She doesn't know.

It's past dark by the time Draco reaches the warehouse district, and a fog has rolled in, which he finds almost comforting. The fog will help hide his spells if any Muggles are about, and he orients again on the warehouse, the little arrow (Gryffindor red) pointing straight at it, pulsing slowly within the crystal, in time to the woman's heartbeat now that he's close enough. He doesn't allow the thought to process of just how disturbing that slow pulsing is, shoving aside the odd flash of concern for later consideration. He doesn't have time to wonder about that concern, not when there's fighting to do. Pulling something from his pocket, he rolls it under the door, then attaches another something to his ear: Extendable Ears. The Weasel's brother made the best business decision of his life when he took that Ministry contract, and as annoying as the twins were, Draco can appreciate their particular brilliance at moments like this.

The lackeys are sitting around playing cards. Their boss has left them here to go and have another little 'chat' with Jane. He was strict in his orders that they not have words with their prisoner. The librarian, he has decided, is to be left to him. What Hermione heard earlier was a bit of their speculation and growsing about that. She's still trying to listen, but the voices are faint and they don't always register. She's dropped off more than once in the past hour or two.

Playing cards. Draco shakes his head in disbelief, wondering how anyone could possibly be stupid enough not to think they'd come looking for her. To think they wouldn't notice she was missing. People like Hermione Granger didn't just disappear for days at a time without word. Unless, of course, the lackeys hadn't told their boss they'd forgotten to clean up after themselves, which he decides is more likely. He hears enough to know there _is_ a boss, and that they're distracted, and then he reels the ear back in and pockets it. Stepping into the alleyway at the side of the warehouse, he brandishes his wand and blows the side door off its hinges and into the room, then follows it.

The lackeys to their credit may not be the brightest but they leap to their feet when the side door blows, cards scattering. Wands are out and they spread out to deal with the threat. There are more than the three that collected Hermione from her flat. Of the five one peels off through the back of the warehouse and a crack! announces his departure. The other four are for the moment seeing what they are dealing with. The noise jolts Hermione out of the doze she had fallen into but she's disoriented and unsure of whether it is help or further trouble that drew her out of sleep.

For the better part of six years, Draco was second-best at Defense, and frankly it drove him crazy. So, once, when he and Harry Potter were in Auror training together, before Potter washed out to go play pro Quid, he cornered the Gryffindor and they discussed why. Then they went out to the deserted, unkempt gardens of the equally deserted manor house Draco had recently moved out of, and had an honest, one-on-one duel, and took each others' measure with no interference or emotion, just skill and brains. And he proceeded to hand Potter his own arse, twice. They swore each other to secrecy and went back to being colleagues who barely tolerated each other, but soon after that Harry left the Ministry, while Draco worked his way up the ranks.

Compared to some of the other stuff he's seen in the course of his career, the kidnappers register pretty low on the danger scale. While waiting for the potion to brew, he'd changed clothes, and is garbed in unrelieved black, and when he enters the warehouse on the heels of the explosion, he's a frightening sight, indeed, to the unprepared: all in black, hair and face almost ghostly pale, silver eyes flashing dangerously, the crystal glowing against his chest, pulsing red... and some of the fog comes in with him, tendrils curling in through the now-open doorway. He snaps off two stunning spells as he goes, toward the two nearest goons, his expression cold.

One of the stunners hits, the goon dropping with a thud on the concrete floor, the other one narrowly misses as the man swerves out of the way. He fires a stunner behind him as he starts running for the back of the warehouse, but given he hardly does more than glance his aim isn't particularly good and it just wings off the warehouse wall. The other two eye the downed man and the ghostly figure. One casts an Accio on the stunned man, while the other casts off a stunner in Malfoy's direction.

Hermione can hear things happening, but in strange echoes that break the silence. It sounds almost eerie. She can't know that the lugheads left guarding her are unnerved by the figure that blasted the door in into silence, nor what is going on with the fight. Her earlier explorations of the storage closet proved useless. It is completely empty except for her, though a chemical smell remains, no doubt accounting for part of her light-headedness.

Malfoy flicks his wand and casts a shield, a delicate, shimmery bubble of spell energy that absorbs the stunner and then dissipates with a tiny pop. He snarls, charging through the remnants of both spells and closing the distance between himself and the goon that fired at him. His wand is still in hand, but it's the other that comes up, fisted, to punch the guy in the nose. It is, oddly enough, a lesson he learned from Hermione in their Third Year at Hogwarts: wizards rarely expect physical combat, and most of them can be caught off guard by it. Draco has found, over the years, that decking someone is a fantastic way to blow their concentration... and it's pretty damn satisfying, too.

The other goon has managed to manhandle his stunned comrade and take off with him, the one Malfoy just punched was a hair slow in following and now finds himself knocked down on the ground seeing stars, an involuntary yelp escaping him as the apparition punches him out? What the heck?

That yelp is magnified through the odd way noise carries in the warehouse leaving Hermione to wonder what just happened. Did someone sneak in? She doesn't even know how many guards there are. She's feeling particularly helpless, not having been able to even get any information out of the situation. It isn't a feeling she likes, but the disoriented feeling of dizziness doesn't allow her to even focus too hard on that.

Dropping to one knee beside the fallen thug, Draco grabs a fistful of the man's shirt and yanks him up enough to snarl, his voice a menacing rumble, "Tell your boss his days are numbered. I'm coming for him, and he can be damn sure I'll find him, no matter how many rocks he chooses to hide under. And if any of you so much as thinks of touching Granger again, I will personally have your arse in a sling." He lets the guy drop back to the floor, reaches out to tweak his broken and bloodied nose, and gets to his feet. "Now, get the fuck out of here."

"...boss...days...numbered..." "...Granger..." Hermione gives her head a shake, trying to clear it. What are they talking about now? Someone sounds angry.

While she is pondering this, the thug is moaning over his broken nose because it hurts like hell. However when Draco tells him to get out of there he doesn't hesitate in scrambling to his feet and running like hell wondering for perhaps the first time if he perhaps should have listened to his mum and worked for his uncle the carter.

Had it been one of Hermione's friends running this show (Harry, Ron, Ginny), the next step would have been to go rushing into the closet and rescuing Hermione, thereby leaving themselves open to possible attack by any bad guys that might have doubled back. Draco is a great deal more paranoid and thorough, and his next move is to ward the space, then poke around in what belongings the thugs have left until he locates her wand. Only then does he open the door to the storage closet the arrow points him at, his expression closed and remote as he summons a light for the space.

The light seems blinding to the girl after so many hours in darkness, and she flinches, shifting her head down a little and trying to see past the light. She can't tell who it is any more than she could see the face of the boss earlier. Her expression still holds defiance, but had it been the boss he would have been happy to see the underlying nerves that she can't quite hide any more and the way the girl trembles. Time in the dark without food or water, he would attest, make an excellent start to wearing down the will to resist questioning. It takes time for her eyes to adjust, but when they finally do and she sees that it is Draco standing there it is equal parts relief and mortification that flood through her causing her cheeks to flush against her current pallor.

No food or water since they captured her, and he can tell, having seen it before, can see the signs of her mistreatment, his expression cold as ice, eyes flinty with it. "Granger." Draco's countenance softens, just a little, and he drops again to one knee, bringing his wand up. "Hold still, I'll have you loose in a minute." Carefully, almost gently, he picks apart the spells holding her captive and silent, setting her free.

Holding still isn't a problem now that she knows who it is even if it does embarrass her to require rescuing, and from Malfoy, no less. Her hands fall apart from where they were bound, but she can't get them to move yet the circulation will take a little time to come back. Her feet are better since she's been able to get them to move a little, though she makes no attempt to stand right now. She doesn't think her legs will support her yet. Hermoine slowly tests out her voice and finding it discovers a husky note to it, no doubt from being parched, "Thanks." The simple word is all she says, but it is completely sincere. However, the short reply seems completely unlike her. She's finding it difficult to focus.

"Don't thank me, yet," Draco tells her, frowning at the way her hands just flop into her lap. He sniffs, and his eyes narrow, and he reaches for her. "Come on, we're getting out of here." His manner is brisk, abrupt, but beneath it there's a trace of actual concern, and he doesn't even bother hiding it.

Hermione tries to stand, but with her hands not working yet she ends up swaying like a drunk - or perhaps a ragdoll trying to stand without a hand to hold it - before she even gets halfway. Her expression might be comical under other circumstances, but the frustration and confusion isn't the only thing that has her near tears right now, and she doesn't want Malfoy to see her cry. "Sorry." Whether she's apologizing for making him more work or for her feet not working isn't clear, and she makes no more comment than that.

"Don't apologize yet, either," Draco says, bending just so and scooping her up into his arms. It's an easy gesture, for him, and the ease with which he can just pick her up may very well surprise her, because he doesn't falter at all. "Hold on." He takes a step back, out of the closet, letting the wards go on the building before Apparating them directly to her flat.

If she weren't so dizzy Hermione would probably question her sanity. She's never wanted to be a romance novel heroine and here she is, the very picture of a damsel in distress, in Draco Malfoy's arms being carried? There's a little wince even as she manages to hold on, the feeling is finally starting to come back to her hands and it hurts. Her cat apparently doesn't stay down for long because a decidedly disgusted-looking Crookshanks is stalking around the flat irritably prompting Hermione in that same husky voice to say, "Crookshanks! You're all right!" Not right or not, the sound of Hermione's voice transforms the cat from menace to purring monstrosity and for all that he leapt at Draco earlier the contrary beast now twines himself around the man's ankles purring all the while.

"He's fine." Draco sets her down gently on the sofa, then prowls through the flat, setting wards on all of the windows as well as the door, making sure it's secure in case someone decides to ignore his warning and come after them. Then he returns to where he left her, sitting beside her and reaching for one of her hands.

The cat mrroows a protest to that, he is most certainly not fine. His food dish has been neglected. Men have come into his domain and taken his mistress. She's back however, and when Draco sets her down the large cat prowls over and curls up right next to her feet. Ordinarily he'd have landed on her lap the moment she was sitting, but he's a smart cat. He can see something isn't right. Hermione is looking slowly around with a little frown, glancing down at the cat. "He looked dead. I had my hands full. The groceries dropped... I was trying to get my wand out... but after that I don't remember. They shouldn't have been able to get in."

"I'll look into it," Draco says, the words a promise, as he takes hold of her hand and begins rubbing gently, massaging feeling back into it. "They cleaned up after themselves, just like with Jane. Put the groceries away, left the cat. But they forgot something, this time." Which begs the question, if they cleaned up so well, how did he find her?

"They forgot something?" Hermione asks. She doesn't ask about Jane yet. One thing at a time seems to be all her focus is good for, something that disturbs her deeply. She's used to being the clever one, at seeing things that others miss. This disorder of her thoughts and lack of concentration is a frightening thing. So heavily is this on her mind that it only occurs to her that Draco has her hand when the feeling has returned more. "I think the one in charge was with Jane... I didn't hear much, but it sounded that way," she says, and in a complete departure from what would be her ordinary reaction to having Draco Malfoy holding her hand for any reason, she doesn't yank it away.

"They left your hairbrush," Draco says, as if this explains everything. The crystal is still pulsing, the little arrow pointed directly at her, but he doesn't pay it any attention, focused on her hands. Once he feels her hand has sufficiently recovered, he lets it drop and reaches for the other, to repeat the process. His hands are strong and gentle, with callouses here and there where the handle of his wand would rest.

When Draco mentions the hairbrush, Hermione's eyes drift down and spot the crystal with a little, "Oh." She's familiar with the sort of potion it would require, though probably not as up to date on the intricacies of hurrying the process and it brings a genuinely approving, if fleeting, smile to her face. "Yes, that would definitely be a mistake. I'm not quite sure what his plans were... but I suspect Veritaserum might have been the least of it. He was leaving me to stew a while." The smile disappears as soon as she thinks of the boss again and without intending it her fingers clench.

The particular tweaks that Draco has done to the original formula have been shared with precisely no one, and he's only used it a few times. He keeps massaging her hand, but looks up at her face, silvery eyes intense. "Don't," he says, quietly. "Don't think about what might have been. You're out, you're safe." He's tempted to add 'I'm here', and wonders briefly where the hell the urge comes from, but he refrains, holding himself in check.

She doesn't bother tell him that it is never that easy. She already knows that he knows. Instead, brown eyes regarding him seriously, Hermione asks, "How are you going to find Jane?" It is a completely unselfish question. She knows that when he goes she'll probably do needlessly complex things to make herself feel safer, but being out, being safe, reminds her that the other woman is not. Had Jane been rescued he would have told her. The cat, exhibiting an extraordinary amount of patience, is not yet even growsing about the lack of dinner.

Having spent a year of terror with Voldemort in his house, Draco most certainly does not need to be told that it is never that easy. "Same way I found you," he replies, letting go of her hand and drawing the chain up over his head, offering her the crystal, the arrow still pulsing. "Wait for him and his hired help to go to ground, then go after them. I've a blood sample from one of them to use." He doesn't mention that he got it by breaking the guy's nose.

Hermione takes it from him and studies it with interest and there's a glimmer of amusement to her words, "So I'll always know where I am." Certainly the arrow hasn't stopped pointing at her for resting on her palm. "Just be careful, Draco. I don't think the boss was a stupid man." She doesn't even realize that she just used his first name. It isn't something she does particularly often.

"For the next six hours or so, yes," Draco replies, smirking a little, though his eyes flash at her use of his given name, and something sparks in his chest. "Stupid or not, he crossed a line when he went after you. But don't worry about me, I can handle myself."

Crookshanks is purring smugly as he leaps from the ground to Hermione's lap, kneading at her skirt with his paws but not sinking the claws in. One great paw reaches up to bat at the crystal and her hand closes over the paw, still holding the crystal. She leans down to get a better look at her cat's claws. "Hmm, I think he marked some of them." She releases his paw, but not the crystal much to the cat's disappointment.

"I saw scratches on the one who tried to tangle with me, so you're probably right." Draco gets to his feet, rolling his shoulders so that his robes fall into place neatly. "Excuse me for a moment." Then he heads for the kitchen, with the intention of making tea.

Hermione nods. She's still rather out of it, so when he goes into the kitchen she doesn't even really think much of it. Instead she fusses over Crookshanks, making much of the cat for attacking the thugs. Fussing over him is normal and thus reassuring to her, especially after having worried that he might have been hurt. It finally occurs to her that the cat won't have been fed, either. "And you deserve that fish I got you if it isn't spoiled," she murmurs to the cat.

At the mention of fish, Crookshanks leaps off her lap and pads quickly over toward the kitchen door. Hermione is a good deal slower, pushing off the couch and coming to her feet rather unsteadily. She waits until her head clears a little before moving ever so slowly toward the kitchen.

Draco hears her fussing over the cat, and is in fact moving to check the icebox when he hears her get up. He rolls his eyes, mutters under his breath about stubborn women, and returns to the living room, catching her by the shoulders before she makes it very far and gently pushing her back to the couch. Then he shakes a finger at her, admonishing, "Stay put. You're not in any shape to be up and about, just yet. I'll feed the bloody cat."

From the alarming way her head was starting to spin, Hermione isn't really able to argue the point. She finds herself sitting on the couch again far more quickly than she stood and walked the few steps toward the kitchen. "All right," she says, wondering why his bossiness isn't aggravating her but too tired to overthink the matter. "All right," she repeats.

Something in her voice catches in his brain, and Draco again remembers the chemical smell from the closet. He swears under his breath and digs in his pocket, pulling out a potion vial and twisting the cap off, pressing it into her hands. "Drink this, Hermione."

One hand still holds the crystal, the red arrow thrumming slowly in time with her heartbeat. The other takes the vial when he presses it into her hand and she stares down at it. "What is it?" It isn't said argumentatively and she's lifting it even as she asks, but it isn't at all like her to drink something without knowing what it is. That she's doing so now demonstrates both a trust in Draco that she probably would not have guessed was there and just how out of it she really is.

"It's an antidote," Draco says, his expression grim, eyes intense as he watches her take it. "The smell from the warehouse, I should have remembered it sooner." He shakes his head and straightens. "I'll make some tea, it'll help wash away some of the taste."

She drinks it down, "I've tasted worse," Hermione replies, leaning her head back against the couch now that it's taken. She forgets to set the vial down and so it, like the crystal stays in her hand. It would be nice if the room would stop spinning, she concludes, though it doesn't seem to want to do so.

Draco reaches toward her, slender fingers brushing hair back from her face, gently. "The tea will help," he says, simply, withdrawing his hand and retreating to the kitchen, where the teakettle he started earlier is almost boiling. He locates the fish in the icebox, checks to make sure it's still fresh, and cuts some of it up to put in the cat's dish, then returns to the stove to turn the heat off just as the kettle starts to whistle.

Hermione looks at him a little confused when he brushes her hair back, but he's back in the kitchen soon enough, leaving her wondering why he's being so nice to her. She can hear Crookshanks murmuring his approval over the fish and the low whistle from the tea pot and her eyes shut for the moment.

Presently, Draco himself has no clue why he's being so nice to her, except that he has no real reason to be particularly cruel. He fixes two cups of tea, adding the precise amounts of cream and sugar to hers that she likes, and then lifts the lid of the trash bin, intending to throw out the fish bone... and freezes, at the sight of the offending Pansy novel. Slowly, he picks it out, absently tossing the fish bone in to take its place, and his lips curve as he notes the cracked binding, the bent pages.

Hermione would be surprised that Draco even knows how she takes her tea, but isn't in any state to really notice that he does right now. Happily for her at the moment she's completely forgotten about Pansy Parkinson's novels, so she is blissfully unaware of what Draco just found in her rubbish bin. She looks like she's dozed off again with how she's laying back against the couch with her eyes closed and her breathing slow and steady. In reality she's just waiting in hopes that her head will stop spinning as the antidote Draco gave her sinks in.

Setting the book on the counter, Draco picks up the assembled tray, having located a tin of biscuits to go with the tea, and heads back out to the living room. He sets the tray on the coffee table and settles next to her on the sofa, touching her shoulder. "Tea. It will help with your head."

Her eyes open slowly and rather cautiously she lifts her head from where she was resting it against the back of the sofa. Her head still has some of that dizziness about it, but at least some of the vertigo is passing. Hermione reaches automatically for the teacup that looks to be how she drinks it. Her hand isn't steady as she lifts the cup, but she doesn't spill at any rate, sipping quietly at the teacup. If the silence of her ordeal was supposed to make her talkative it backfired. Hermione offers another polite, "Thanks." She pauses a moment and then offers, "If you need to start the potion for the tracker while the blood is still fresh you can check my lab to see if there are the right things in it for you." Yes, she still has her own potions lab at home.

"It will keep," Draco replies, referring to the blood sample. The vial is tightly capped and sealed, in a pocket in his robes, and he'll wait until he gets home before worrying about the second potion. "Nice lab, by the way." The potion should be clearing her head, so the lack of conversation is a little worrisome.

"They didn't mess it up, did they?" Hermione asks, sipping more of her tea. At least she has the sense to drink it slowly. It helps that it is hot. After not eating or drinking for over twenty-four hours she knows she'd better take it slow on both. She can see that it has been that long from the time on the clock on the mantle. Once it catches her eye she ends up staring at it a long moment, longer than a clock merits, and gives her head a little shake as though clearing it and nearly spilling her tea on herself in the process. "Oh, hell, I should send a note off to Miss Vendworth. She'll be worried sick. And here I'm keeping you, when you could be finding, Jane." Whatever it was about the clock, clearly it cleared something up. Or perhaps the antidote just kicked in more.

"I'll call Miss Vendworth," Draco offers, though he doesn't move to do so right that second. "And I've a feeling they'll be treating Jane a little better than they did you." His instincts are telling him that Jane is meant to be a bargaining chip, if nothing else, and she's of no use to the kidnappers if she's injured or dead.

"I hope so. She must be worried sick about Johnny," Hermione says, her eyes showing concern, but a lingering vulnerability too. "I wish I could tell you more of what they discussed, Draco, but the sound carried so oddly that I never heard the whole of anything when I could hear it at all. I tried to listen." This time it belatedly occurs to her that she usually calls him Malfoy, not Draco, and she feels heat creep into her cheeks. She tries to hide it by staring into her tea cup.

The color creeping into her cheeks lets Draco know that she's sufficiently recovered enough to recognize her surroundings... and what she's called him. He sets his cup down, his hand coming up to once more brush aside hair from her face, gentle fingers cool against her heated cheek. "It's all right, Hermione." He uses her given name on purpose, though probably not for the reasons she'd expect, and his tone is oddly gentle, as well. "You were drugged... poisoned, really. And the sound did carry rather strangely."

Hermione looks up from her tea when he says her name, her gaze caught as much by the mesmerizing quality of his eyes as by the tone of his voice. "How did you know? I was expecting that he'd ask me things... he wouldn't have gotten very far with that." She is surprised to find that her usual irritation with Malfoy seems to have abated leaving her almost, but not quite comfortable with him.

"The smell," Draco replies, his fingers sliding across her cheek. "Very rare, highly illegal, the potion was developed in Japan. The fumes have the same end result as the Veritaserum, and prolonged exposure without food or drink makes one more susceptible to it." His voice is a soft caress, relaying just the facts, without sounding condescending. "It can also be quite toxic, which is why it's illegal in three-quarters of the civilized world."

"Oh, well, that explains why my head kept spinning then," Hermione says, in an off-hand sort of way, adding softly, "I daresay they wouldn't have expected that I might think of Veritaserum though. There are memory tricks you can use if you're expecting it like a memory palace. I did a fair bit of reading on the subject a few years back."

"I suspect," Draco says, his lips twitching as he refrains from looking smug, "you do quite a bit of reading." There's a pause, his fingers still resting against her cheek, and then he adds, "I wouldn't have figured you for the Pansy Parkinson novel, though."

There's still enough of the drug or poison in Hermione's system that he gets a straighter answer than she would have provided if she weren't still clearing it out. "Everyone at the library reads them... even Mr. Peppersmith, though he says he likes to keep up with what the ladies want. Miss Vendworth insisted with the first one. Oh. Blast." Hermione looks away from him, "The problem," she says with a wry frankness, "with unlocking the palace is that if the serum isn't fully out of your system you never know what will come out. I suppose you saw the one in the rubbish bin."

"It was rather impossible to overlook, being right there on top." Draco withdraws his hand and gets to his feet. "I hear it's her best work yet, though I've not read the copy she sent me." He's not ashamed to admit that his personal library includes all of Pansy's books: she always sends him a copy from the first printing.

"I don't know... I didn't read it," Hermione says, still rather embarrassed to be caught with the book even if it was in the rubbish bin. Nevermind that there are five more Parkinson novels on the bookshelf across the room from where she's sitting. "It isn't Saturday, is it?" she asks, frowning a little. Even with seeing the clock she isn't sure just how much time she lost while unconscious.

"Well," Draco drawls, his gaze shifting to the bookshelf where the other five books are sitting, "the books aren't anywhere near as good as the real thing." Because even if she hasn't read the newest one, he KNOWS she's read the other five... plus the ones he spotted in her bedroom earlier. "Today is Friday. Miss Vendworth called the Ministry when you didn't show up for work."

Hermione can't help but smirk. Men and their egos. But whether it is a reluctance to snipe at him at the moment or the actual lack of a comeback she doesn't comment on the egotistical remark. She's relieved to hear that it's Friday, though. "Oh, then I really should send a note. She's no doubt been worrying all day. I'm glad it isn't Saturday. I promised Ginny I'd watch the boys on Sunday after brunch."

"How do you want to handle it?" Draco asks, straightening and looking back at her, one eyebrow arched in inquiry. "There was no official report filed, but the call went through the Ministry, so there may be an inquiry. I can leave out the details, though, if you'd rather." Meaning she's not obligated to tell her nosy but well-meaning boss the details, thus sparing herself a fussing-over.

"If you need someone to press charges, I will, of course, but if it can be kept quiet, that would be good. Otherwise, it will turn into a circus and people will be bothering me for weeks," Hermione replies. It could be months, if news is slow, but certainly weeks. Even now on slow news days occasionally some stupid article will turn up on something she or Ron has done. Harry, of course, never stopped making the news.

Which is why he asked; Draco is smart enough to have picked up on the fact that she'd prefer not having people fuss over her. Harry, for all he professes not to, enjoys the spotlight, as does Ron, when he can get it. Hermione, though... Draco nods, ignoring the nagging voice in his head that has piped up to ask just how he knows her so well, chalking it up to the fact that he used to watch her, back in school, waiting for just the right moment to say something cruel, looking for ways to hurt her. Those days are behind him, now, but the knowledge remains. "We'll worry about pressing charges after they've been caught. Will you be all right, here?"

"I'll be fine," Hermione says matter-of-factly. It's a reply she's used to giving. She'd very much like to know how they got into her flat. That still bothers her as well it might given the levels of warding she uses. "Thank you again, Draco," she says, the words coming out softly. She's aware that he could have just dropped her off at Mungo's after or with one of her friends, but instead he brought her home and made her tea after he rescued her. It's more than most aurors would do, even for an acquaintance. Because they were never friends.

Fine? Draco rather doubts it, and he leans down to catch her chin with his elegant fingers, tilting her head up so he can look her in the eyes. "That may work on your friends, but that tone doesn't hide anything from me," he says, his voice a quiet rumble. "If you'd rather not be alone just yet, I can stay."

Striking eyes. It's the first thought that pops in Hermione's head and she's only glad she didn't say it aloud. "I'll still be fine, Malfoy. I've got Crookshanks for company and once I've sent off a note to Miss Vendworth I'll probably just heat a tin of soup," she says quietly. Of course she'll probably also after eating that soup take many extra precautions against anyone else getting into her flat, but that's entirely beside the point. "Of course if I knew how they managed to get in here in the first place no doubt I would feel better, but I'm sure there's many things you'd rather be doing than staying here."

Malfoy. That she's retreated back to the use of his last name draws a smirk from him, and a vague awareness that he liked her calling him 'Draco' better. "I said I'll look into it, Granger. I don't make promises I don't intend to keep." He would have questioned the neighbors, earlier, if he hadn't found her hairbrush, but it's too late in the evening for that, in the absence of a real emergency.

She frowns a little as something else finally occurs to her, "My wand..." Hermione glances around wondering whether they would have left it or taken it. Clearly she is getting back to herself far more if she's worrying over its whereabouts.

With his other hand, Draco retrieves her wand from a pocket of his robes, presses it into her hand. "You have my card. Call if you need anything." He leans closer, his eyes intent upon hers, and then closer still, and finally brushes his lips against hers, the briefest of kisses. Then he straightens, flashes her a smile without a trace of smug in it, and Apparates out.

Hermione's fingers tighten around her wand automatically when Draco presses it into her hand. She doesn't think to mention that the card is at the library, not at home and even as he leans closer and closer it still comes as a shock that he actually kisses her. Her face is almost expressionless as she looks at him after, save for a measure of surprise and confusion in her eyes even as she notes the absence of smugness in his smile right before he apparates. "What the hell was that about?" she asks Crookshanks, who is just emerging from the kitchen licking his chops in appreciation of the fine fish dinner he just polished off.


	4. Chapter 04

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

* * * * *

Shaking off the oddness of having had Draco Malfoy kiss her, Hermione slowly gets up off the couch happy to find that her dizziness seems to have passed thanks to the antidote. The first thing she does is send off a note to Miss Vendworth, though she leaves everything a bit vague aside from that she's safe and will see her during her regular shift on Monday. She makes her way into the kitchen after that to open a tin and set the soup to heating and while it does so she pours herself more tea, adding milk and sugar before sipping the sweetened beverage. There's nothing she'd like more than to layer the wards already in place on the flat with more, but she knows she'd better eat something first.

"What the FUCK was THAT?" Draco roars at his reflection, glaring into the mirror hanging in the foyer of his house. He rakes a hand through his hair, then shakes his head. "This calls for a drink." Ordinarily, he doesn't indulge when he's on a case, but he needs to do something to get his mind off of what just happened. He heads into his study, where he keeps a bottle of very good firewhiskey, and pours himself a glass, draining half of it before finally sitting down and looking thoughtful.

When she returns to the kitchen the soup is bubbling so she stirs it and then pours it into a bowl, cutting up some bread and getting out the butter to go with it. It's only then that Hermione spots the offending Parkinson novel on the counter, no longer in the rubbish bin. She eyes it dubiously and shakes her head as she carries the plate with bread and soup bowl on it into the living room and settles herself back on the couch. Crookshanks leaps up to curl in next to her, a warm purring presence.

Malfoy's abode is blessedly silent, save for the ticking of an antique grandfather clock, in the foyer, and the man himself, musing aloud, "Granger. Hermione." He takes another fortifying sip of firewhiskey. "Pretty enough, I suppose, though she's always played that down. Beautiful eyes," he decides, with a firm nod. Talking it through helps his thought process, especially when the puzzle is a difficult one. "A man could get lost in those eyes. And she's still got that fire, that Gryffindor spirit, and that temper..." He sighs, drags a hand through his hair again, and drains the glass, then pours another. "Fuck."

Hermione doesn't rush through eating the soup. She ends up sharing bits of the buttered bread with the cat. Crookshanks will eat anything. While she eats she tries to make sense of it and... well she just can't. He didn't look smug. She really can't see what he was getting at kissing her. "It makes no sense. No sense at all," she informs her cat as she slowly gets up again to take the dishes to the kitchen. A wave of her wand sets them to cleaning themselves. More often than not she does dishes the muggle way, but sometimes the convenience of not having to is nice. Still trying to figure it out she sets about tripling the warding that is already in place. No one will take her by surprise tonight, she's making very certain of that. The slightest touch on those wards and she will wake.

Halfway through his second glass of firewhiskey, Draco notices the Pansy novel, sitting innocuously on the corner of his desk. Setting the glass down, he pulls the book closer, snorts over the cover art, and then opens it, scanning down the first page. "Oh, what the hell." It's a resigned sort of mutter, and he sits back, reading, some part of his brain idly noting, with some surprise and not for the first time, that Pansy's a damn good writer.

Hermione, for all that she is both physically and emotionally exhausted, knows that she isn't at all likely to sleep for a while yet if at all tonight. She's all too likely to jump at small noises much to her disgust. So in an attempt to relax and also get rid of some of the stiffness that remains from being stuck in the same position for so long she sets the bathtub to filling before going back to the kitchen to pour herself a mug of cider. As she pours it she eyes the Parkinson novel on the counter. She grumbles a little as she picks it up reluctantly. "I suppose if she's getting the money for having sold it I ought to read the damn thing before I throw it out."

After the first few pages, Draco manages to sufficiently suspend his disbelief and becomes rather engrossed in the story. It's true that 'Secret Agent Drake Malloy' is a thinly disguised carbon copy of himself, but Pansy's talented enough that he can't really be irritated at her for that. When Drake finds himself playing bodyguard to a fiery brunette disguised as a mousy librarian, Draco's lips twitch, and he looks away from the book long enough to drain his glass of firewhiskey again.

Setting the mug and book on the ledge beside the tub, Hermione sinks into the hot water, slipping under the bubbles and just leaning back and allowing the warmth to soak in a while. Once she's warmer she wipes her hands on her towel before picking up mug and book. She's still eyeing it with more than a little skepticism. She sips at her cider, then sets it down, finally opening the book. The first few pages are enough to almost have her pitch it across the room again, but she gives the story the benefit of the doubt and by the end of the first chapter she's managed to forget why she found the book so annoying in the first place.

The slow tolling of the grandfather clock brings Draco up and out of the book, and he blinks a few times, surprised by how late it's gotten. Since it is now officially too late to do anything remotely resembling work, he hauls himself up out of the chair and up the stairs to his bedroom, the book still held in one hand, his index finger marking the page he left off on. He's still ticked at Pansy over the whole 'Slytherin Sex God' thing, but he can't really blame people for reading her books, because they're not half bad.

Hermione is still reading as the bath water grows cold. She's kind of annoyed at the whole 'mousy librarian' thing, but as she recalls from other Parkinson books once you start them they are hard to put down and this one is no exception. She sets it aside to dry off, set the bath to draining and then tucks herself into bed. Crookshanks leaps up to join her, apparently having decided she can't be trusted out of his sight for long. She goes back to reading and the positive thing is, the book is distracting enough that she's not jumping at every little sound.

While Draco can freely admit to owning the Pansy novels without fear of looking anything less than masculine, he will never admit to anyone that he /reads/ them. Not obsessively, or anything, just a single read-through after receiving it from her. As he undresses to shower before bed, he reflects that the papers were right, and this her best work to date.

It's late when the book drops from Hermione's hand, exhaustion finally having caught up with her. She falls into a fitful slumber, her dreams drifting into a strange blend of fact and fiction as her own adventures blend together with those of the fictional librarian. She wakes up more than once, heart pounding until she realizes where she is and that the weight on her legs is only her cat and that yes, she can even breathe. It is still later when she finally succumbs to tears, feeling better for getting them out of her system though they prompt her to get up and wash her face to destroy the traces. At that point she gives up on sleeping altogether and turns on a lamp, relocating her page to go back to reading the book.

Sliding into bed beneath the covers, Draco picks up the book again, reading well past midnight, when his eyelids finally droop, and he drifts. Puzzles tease at his mind, pieces coming together in dreams and floating away again. The fantasy of the book blends with the real, for a while, until he sinks deeper, and then the nightmares take hold. He comes awake in a sweat, disoriented, hand digging beneath his pillow for his wand and stammering a lumos. Reality kicks in, and he groans, flopping back to the pillows and peering blearily at the clock, then swearing at the time. Once his breathing calms down, he groans again and picks up the book, in an attempt to lose himself in the story.

Hermione reads with bleary eyes, what sleep she got didn't really refresh her. Somewhere past the first quarter of the book the heroine developed some spunk and became far less unpalatable so that Hermione can actually appreciate her now despite all the messes the girl gets herself into. It isn't always her fault either she just seems to have a knack for attracting trouble. Hermione can certainly relate to that.

Damsels in distress aren't really Draco's thing, and he'd be the first to admit he makes a lousy knight in shining armor. Then again, there was Granger... his mind drifts again, just below the surface of sleep, and summons her image, and the look in her eyes just after he'd kissed her. He can remember clearly the softness of her lips, the surprise in her expression.

Being a damsel in distress isn't really Hermione's thing she'd rather be getting someone else out of a scrape than in one herself. It's a romance novel, however, and she accepts that more often than not the heroine gets shoved into uncomfortable situations as a plot device. It isn't to say that she approves of how /often/ it gets used but then sometimes it happens for real too. Setting the book down again she gets up, much to the disgust of the cat who was quite comfortable thank you very much, and pads on bare feet into the bathroom. She splashes cool water on her face, decides she might as well brush her teeth and then brushes her hair for good measure. She gets dressed in one of her most comfortable pairs of jeans and her favorite sweater then curls up again with the book and cat.

The second time he awakens in a sweat, it's not from a nightmare, and Draco groans again as he eyes the clock and sees it's too freaking early. He peels himself out of the bed and pads into the bathroom, turning the water on as cold as he can manage it, then steps unceremoniously under the spray, hissing and swearing at the shock of icewater on his too-hot skin.

As Hermione reaches the end of the novel she realizes two things. The first is that Parkinson has indeed outdone herself on the novel. The second is the one that has her hurling the book across the room again. At some point she stopped reading the male lead's name as Drake Malloy and her brain has been substituting Draco Malfoy for it. It makes her want to bang her head against the wall, but she decides to get up and make tea instead.

The shower does little to calm him, and as he stands dripping in the bathroom Draco is sorely tempted to call Pansy, and never mind that it's four in the morning. Then he remembers that part of his problem is entirely her fault, and towels off with a growl, then stalks back to the bedroom to dress. Black trousers, a crisp white dress shirt, and a dark blue sweater, and then he heads down to his study to go over his notes on the case.

Filling the kettle and putting it on the stove, Hermione bangs the tins around as she gets the tea things ready. Crookshanks just stares at her, though he starts purring the moment she pours some cream in his dish. "Bloody hell!" The utterance is wholly justifiable considering she just poured boiling water on her hand instead of in the teapot. She sets the kettle back down on the stove and walks over to the sink, holding her hand under cold water and muttering all the while. "It's an easy mistake to make. Stop fussing so much over it. Clearly you are still overwrought." The cat pays her no mind. His human will sort herself out eventually.

Try as he might, Draco can't muster enough focus to properly analyze his notes. He's missing something, he's sure of it, some piece of the puzzle, needs to look at it from another angle. Raking both hands through his hair, leaving it slightly mussed, he sighs and sits back, hands dropping so he can tap on the desk. Something, he's not sure what, has him thinking of Granger, and before he has time to really register the hour, he's digging out his mirror and keying in the frequency to hers.

Hearing her mirror chirp, Hermione shuts off the water even as she's glancing at the clock and frowning. What the hell? Her hand stings since she hasn't had the chance to put burn balm on it yet, but she makes her way over to pick up the mirror and flip it open. "What's wrong?" It's too freaking early for social calls, her tone says.

There's a pause as she takes in just /who/ is on the other end of the mirror and her eyebrows shoot up, even as her cheeks color. "Draco???"

"I might ask you the same question," he drawls, in response to her initial question. Even through the mirror, he can read her as easily as Pansy's book. "What's wrong, Hermione?" Draco looks almost concerned.

"Oh nothing but a bit of clumsiness," Hermione replies, walks with the mirror down to her lab where she reaches up to get a jar of her burn balm. "I burned my hand making tea." Her friends think she's completely hopeless in the kitchen it isn't something she'd have mentioned to Ginny, so Hermione wonders why she's actually admitting it to Draco.

Draco's lips twitch, but he squashes the urge to smile, and instead nods. "Side effect of the potion. Even with the antidote, some of the symptoms can linger for days afterward. I've a book on exotic foreign potions, I could bring it by if it would help."

"When you have time if you are sure you wouldn't mind..." Hermione replies, trying to open the jar with her free hand. Naturally it doesn't work so well trying to do it one handed. Oh well, she can wait. She carries it and the mirror back with her to the kitchen. She's feeling confused again. First he kisses her, now he's offering to share a potions book? "Are you sure everything is all right?"

"I'm fine." Draco is much, much better at presenting a facade to the world, however whether it's due to the late hour or the lack of sleep his facade isn't quite perfect. "How are you holding up?" He can guess, just based on the fact that she's awake, but he'll let her answer for herself, a little confused on why he even called her in the first place.

She gives a little shrug. "All right," she says. Hermione never was one to play it up when she wasn't all right, but she's as all right as can be expected. "I expect I'll mostly be puttering around the flat today. I've the weekend off, but tomorrow I'll be watching Ginny and Harry's boys." Such exciting weekend plans she has. Though the last two days were more than enough excitement.

"Want some company?" Wait, what?? Draco has no clue where the hell that comes from (side-effect from his brief exposure to the airborne potion, maybe?), but doesn't retract the question. Mostly because he's wondering how she'll react, what her answer will be.

Did she just hear him right? "Company?" Hermione asks, leaning against the counter. She's confused and some of her earlier irritability lingers adding a sharpness to her cautious tone as she asks, her eyes wary, "Why?" A couple days aren't enough to wash away all of her caution. While parts of her want to believe that yes, he's grown up and into a decent person, there's still many memories of all the abuse throughout school. She may be ready, she may have even already forgiven him underneath it all, but forgetting is much harder.

"It's not that hard a question, Granger, a simple yes or no will do." Draco retreats back into the cold formality, but the facade is still imperfect, and there's a sense that she's somehow wounded him. "And I'm not certain it should be discussed via mirror." It's not a completely secure medium, after all.

"All right. Just... give me a few minutes I want to put that burn balm on before I adjust the wards," Hermione says, awkwardly. She doesn't take any satisfaction from having upset him with her reply.

Silvery eyes narrow, and Draco nods. "You've got five." He doesn't give her time to object, either, snapping his mirror shut and returning it to his pocket as he gets to his feet, pocketing the notebook as well. The potions book is retrieved from the shelf, and then he heads up to the lab, carefully assembling what he'll need for the tracking potion, later.

Flipping the mirror shut, Hermione closes her eyes a moment and just takes a deep breath. She can almost hear Ron right now asking her if she's mental. Perhaps she is. The searing pain in her hand though reminds her that water on a burn isn't enough and she opens the jar so that she can slather on some of the burn balm. She wipes her hands carefully on a towel and drops it through to her laundry hamper before closing the jar again and taking it back to the lab to replace it. Only then does she take out her wand in order to make the necessary adjustments so that her wards are no longer so anti-social.

At five minutes exactly, Draco Apparates to the hall outside her flat and raps on her door. He could have tested her wards and tried to Apparate directly inside, but he's maintaining the polite facade, hence the knock. A well-cut robe of some fine fabric has been draped over the rest of his outfit, impeccable as always, and the potion supplies have been tucked away in a hidden pocket, though he holds the book in hand.

If he had tried that and it was too early he'd have no doubt encountered the friendly set of stunners built into the ward, but Hermione has taken those down temporarily at least. At the knock she looks through the peek hole, spots Draco and with the potion book, and opens the door. It irks her a little that she feels more relaxed for having him back. "Hello. I never did get that tea poured, but I expect the water is still hot if you'd like some," she offers by way of greeting.

Draco steps inside, handing her the book. "Chapter 33 details a number of potions you might find interesting, but the one you were exposed to is on page 241. Tea's a good idea, I'll get it." He glances briefly at her hands, notes which one's been treated with the balm, and nods to himself.

Hermione takes the book, shutting the door after him and with the ease of long practice throws the wards back up. Granted they aren't always quite so paranoidly complicated but she can do them practically in her sleep. "Thank you," she says simply as she takes the book over to sit on the couch with it. Curious as she may be about the further contents of the book, he's right in thinking she'll want to look over the information on the potion she was exposed to and so it is directly to page 241 she turns.

It is for that precise reason that he gave her the page number, proving once again how very well he knows her. He starts toward the kitchen, then pauses, at the sight of the book on the floor, and he can't suppress a smile, though he doesn't turn back toward her. "Looks like you've already been doing some reading."

Hermione looks up, spots the book lying on the floor near the wall where it hit and makes a face. "Erm... yes, well I couldn't sleep anyhow and Miss Vendworth will surely ask if I read it sometime soon. Having wasted the money I figured I might as well," she replies, looking back to the page in a rather useless attempt to hide her embarrassment. Bad enough to own the thing, worse to get caught having read it.

Wisely tabling the issue, for now, Draco enters the kitchen and fixes an entire pot of tea, electing to go with the full tea set because he has a feeling they'll need more than just a single cup. For someone who grew up with house elves waiting on him hand and foot, he's remarkably capable in the kitchen, and soon enough carries a tray back out to the living room.

Hermione shoves away the images that come along with thinking of that book, trying to focus instead on the information in the potions book. It isn't particularly easy to do given she's got the hero's proto-type in her kitchen, she didn't get much sleep, and her concentration as the book informs her will be dicey at times for up to three months. Ugh.

"You have to hand it to the Japanese," Draco says, settling next to her and handing her the cup he'd fixed for her, "they know how to make things last." Most of the potions from that part of the world have side-effects that linger.

"Given its toxicity I think the extended side effects a bit overkill, myself," Hermione replies. Ugh, intermittent periods where she might as well be under veritaserum too? It isn't that Hermione spends all of her time in untruths, but it can be deuced awkward to come out with more than you intended to say.

"Read the second paragraph again," Draco suggests, with a nod at the book. "It's not always guaranteed to be lethal, and the effects tend to be diluted with food and drink. Plus, there's an antidote for the poison, but no counter - yet - for the other effects."

"I didn't miss it, still there's an awfully high toxicity on it," Hermione replies soberly. Especially when /not/ diluted by food and drink. Her hands shake a little as she brings the tea cup up to sip at it, if she weren't holding it with two hands she'd probably have ended up spilling. It is no use thinking about that percentage, she tells herself sternly. He got you out in time.

"Hey." Draco's expression softens, and he takes the book from her, setting it on the table beside the tray. "It will pass, Hermione. And I don't think they intended to kill you."

"No, probably not," Hermione agrees, sipping more of her tea. At least the way she takes it she doesn't really run much risk of burning her tongue. Intentional or not, though, if they'd left it too long she'd have been just as... stop that, she tells herself firmly. Glancing down at her teacup she notices that it is empty and sets it down on the coffee table.

Setting his teacup aside, Draco catches hold of her hands, leaning toward her and watching her face. "Hermione," he says, his voice quiet but firm, "it's okay for you to be upset by this, disturbed. You don't have to play it strong, not for me."

"It's a funny thing... when you're younger you don't think anything can kill you. Then, you get to the point where you think well yes, with all that's happening I don't know if we'll all make it but Harry's got to, so that's the important thing... keep Harry alive to do what he needs to... but you get through all that somehow still alive and then something else happens after a few years and it just suddenly seems worse somehow. That you might have ended up dead out of carelessness," Hermione says. From her expression it wasn't what she intended to say, but she finishes what she was saying anyhow.

"Not carelessness." Draco lets go of her with one hand so that he can bring it up and brush it across her cheek. "This wasn't your fault, Hermione. I know that won't make it any better, and I wish I could tell you that it /will/ get better, but it won't. It never does. You know that already."

"No," she admits in a small voice, "it doesn't, really." Hermione sighs tiredly, then gives him a little smile filled with irony, "but," she says pausing a moment, "trust me to find the one library in town where there'll be something like this come up and work there. I think I'm rather glad that Harry and Ron got out of auror work... they'd have been in trouble all the time."

"Not to mention," Draco adds, with just a hint of a smile, "if they'd still been at the Ministry, one of them might have caught this case, and then I'd have missed my opportunity to play rescuer." Though he's still kind of puzzled by why he seems to be enjoying this quite so much.

That remark draws a hint of color into Hermione's cheeks and if Draco is confused, well, so is she. "I wouldn't have pictured you particularly fancying that role, you know. It wasn't so very long ago that you were telling me not to increase your workload," she replies, though there's no bite to her tone.

"I should probably point out that I look ridiculous in those plated suits of armor," Draco quips, his fingers still resting on her cheek. "Minus the trappings of knighthood, though, it turns out I'm not half bad at rescuing damsels in distress."

"I can't say I've ever much cared for playing for the damsel in distress role..." Hermione says before adding hesitantly, "but you made that easier last night... thank you." She hates feeling weak and helpless. And he caught the poison too. She drags her mind away from that thought again, "Armor is too clunky anyway for sneaking up on anyone."

"Not if it's been properly enchanted," Draco counters, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw before he pulls his hand away. "Or treated with the right potion, for that matter. It's time-consuming work, though, and the ingredients for the potions have gotten rarer, so it's a bit of a lost art."

"All right, /most/ armor is too clunky," Hermione replies, though it was meant as a joke anyway since he was talking about knights. She feels strangely bereft when he pulls his hand away, though she doesn't want to consider why. "So what has you up so early anyway?" she asks. She knows why she couldn't sleep, she hadn't expected him to have a similar problem. Of course it could just be that Malfoy is a compulsively early riser, but she doesn't think so somehow.

Draco doesn't answer right away, considering the question, how much to tell her. "I don't sleep well," he says, finally. He lifts a shoulder in half a shrug, as if suggesting it's no big deal, then glances across the room where the book still lies on the floor. "And then, as it turns out, I was doing some reading of my own."

Hermione looks at him a long moment when he says he doesn't sleep well, but then catches where his glance goes and can't help but chuckle. "Why do you suppose it is that every writer who includes a librarian in a novel has to refer to her at least once as mousy?" she inquires. "And more often than not they do it repeatedly." So cliche!

"Cliche, perhaps, but then you have to consider that the vast majority of librarians fit the cliche, otherwise there wouldn't be one." Draco turns his head and looks back at her, his lips quirking in a faint smile. "Working in a library isn't generally considered a glamourous career, though I imagine it has its own rewards."

"Miss Vendworth was quite a beauty in her youth, I've seen photos," Hermione attests. She can't vouch for the others of course, but they couldn't possibly have all started out dull and mousy and lifeless. "Glamour is overrated." She leans forward so that she can pour herself more tea, adding cream and just a spoonful of sugar, then stirring.

"I happen to agree with you." Given that Draco is currently leading the 'glamourous' life of an Auror, combined with what's known of his dating history, this may come as a surprise, because he certainly seems the type to appreciate glamour. "I suspect, however, that since most people don't consider it a glamourous career, they find it hard to believe that anyone who's /not/ mousy and dull would want to work in a library."

"And of course in fiction at least it is the perfect place to hide from a mysterious past," Hermione says, and she can't help it she smirks. There's more to being a librarian than just liking books. She finds it rather funny, if annoying, that the heroine just sort of lucked into the job and somehow /magically/ just knew what to do without even a more senior librarian to help her. For all she knows he's /still/ dating Pansy, she hasn't kept up with Draco's love life.

"Only in fiction?" Draco asks, and while his tone is lightly teasing there's something in his eyes that suggest it's not as lighthearted a question. "Libraries do make good places to hide, I suppose. It must be easy, to just... lose yourself in the work."

"It isn't as easy as she makes it appear... I'd have been lost without Miss Vendworth and the others when I started," Hermione admits. She sips at her tea thoughtfully. "But I enjoy it. I've a whole group of ten year olds that are as excited as can be at the thought of starting Hogwarts in the fall and not, I think, woefully ignorant like some are when they get there." She grins, "I've given them a nice balance of 'Hogwarts, a History' and carefully edited stories."

She glances over at him, a twinkle in her eyes as she adds, "After all I don't want the poor dears upset if they get sorted into /your/ old House." Yes, she's teasing him.

"Contrary to what Potty and the Weasel may have told you, there is nothing wrong with being in Slytherin," Draco replies, drawing himself up. He can't hold onto it, though, and he flashes her a grin. "We're not all of us prats, though Merlin knows I was."

"Yes," Hermione agrees, with a small smile, "you certainly were... but you seem to have grown out of it rather nicely." There's almost a shy quality to her voice. "Harry and Ron could make right gits of themselves upon occasion, but they were good friends to have most of the time."

"It's a lot of work, being Slytherin," Draco tells her, surprising himself with his honesty. "Ambition has its ups and downs. As does bravery, I'd imagine. A lot of that went overlooked, when we were at Hogwarts, because of everything else that was going on. But we weren't Sorted by blood alone, I didn't end up in the House I did just because I was a Malfoy."

"No, I suppose not. There was more than one person who thought I ought to have been in Ravenclaw," Hermione smirks. "Thank goodness I wasn't or I'd have probably stayed an insufferable little prig for a lot longer. Books and cleverness are all very well, but they aren't everything." Bravery certainly has its ups and downs. She can definitely agree on that.

"You'd have made a smashing Ravenclaw," Draco agrees, with an answering smirk. "I suspect, though, that in the long run your courage, and perhaps your loyalty outweighed the brilliance. At the end of the day, your heart has the final say, rather than your head."

"Gryffindor trademarks, yes... that old hat sees a lot," Hermione says with a chuckle, "and has surprising depths to it." It's a bit of a shock to be getting compliments from Draco of all people, even if he is smirking as he utters them, but oddly she finds herself believing he is sincere all the same.

"Slytherins are much the same, if you think about it," Draco continues, which may shock her further. "We can use logic to further our ambition, and some of us are damn good at it." Himself being one of those, because while he may have been a prat, he was also /smart/. "But the ends justify the means, and at the end of the day, the ambition is what matters."

Ambition, so good for some things, so positively dreadful for others. Without it there is too much entropy, but misused war and chaos. Hermione shrugs a little, "The ends don't always justify the means. Ambition can be healthy, but too much... too much can be a very nasty problem. But then, excess often is problematic with many traits."

"With nothing to temper the ambition, the ends almost always justify the means." Draco says this matter-of-factly, but his eyes, for just a moment, reflect a deeper story, and he shrugs. "Couple the ambition with Salazar's prejudices, and it explains a lot, about why so many Slytherins have gone down that road, and... other things."

Hermione sets her teacup down again, "Predisposed or preconditioned in many cases I suppose and easier than turning back to hike uphill on a narrower, rockier path," she says. She pauses a long moment before she adds, without pity but not without compassion in her eyes, "Hiking isn't always easy, but it has its own rewards." Perhaps she would have said more, but she's still hesitant and also trying /not/ to strike a nerve. There isn't anything smug or knowing in her tone, quite the contrary. It isn't that she feels she has Draco all figured out either, given how much he's been confusing her the last few days, clearly she doesn't.

"It's awfully hard to turn back and hike that rocky path if you don't know it's there," Draco adds, with a faint smile that curves his lips but doesn't reach his eyes. "I didn't, for a long time, not until Dumbledore died. And it took a while, after that, to work up the nerve to step off the road that had been laid down."

Slowly, hesitantly one of Hermione's hands goes over to take one of Draco's. She's half expecting that he'll yank it away, "Better late than not at all," she says softly, her brown eyes serious, "Though perhaps hardest when done alone?" It isn't like the instant cementing of friendship that happened when Ron and Harry saved her from the troll first year when she lied to keep them out of trouble after the professors arrived, but an equally compelling force compels her to offer, hiding it behind the analogy and a seemingly lighter facade, "You've been carrying my backpack a ways, if you'd like I'll make a loan of my walking stick." In a peculiar sense it isn't so far off, the burdens of the past few days seem lighter with him here.

Since he's still trying to sort out why he'd kissed her in the first place, Draco is surprised when she takes his hand, but he doesn't pull away. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you all of this," he confesses, his eyes meeting hers. "Rationally, perhaps, we can maybe chalk it up to my brief exposure to the potion, but I don't think that's it. Maybe... maybe it's because I know you get it, you understand."

"Maybe," Hermione agrees, because of course she does get it. There aren't so many who would or even who would understand. Maybe that's why she thinks he needs a friend. "I shouldn't worry about it, though. If it was the potion you breathed far less of it than I did. I doubt you'll be confiding all your secrets to anyone any time soon."

"Let's hope." It comes out deadpan and almost light, but underneath it is the sense that some of his secrets are better left buried. Draco turns his hand, brushing his thumb across the back of hers. "We're not so different, you and I, if you think about it." Strip away the years of animosity and prejudice, and they probably would have /been/ friends, rather than adversaries.

"Maybe not so much now," Hermione replies. Her ambitions in the past extended primarily to keeping the highest marks in the class, whatever class it was, and in helping Harry and keeping him and Ron safe. Of late she's been rather adrift, he wasn't far wrong when he inferred that she was hiding in the library. Her eyes flicker involuntarily toward where the novel rests a moment, though they dart back away from it as though the book has the power to burn as the hot water did her hand earlier. With a self-depreciating little smile she adds, "at least in some ways." Mr. Peppersmith's opinion aside, Hermione has never felt like much of a femme fatale, though Viktor still attests that she was ravishing at that dance. They still exchange Christmas cards. He married a nice girl last year at Easter.

The smile draws an arched brow from Draco. "What's that supposed to mean." He's had his share of insecurities, in the past, though most of them are behind him, so he's not entirely sure why he seems to be seeking her... approval? Or something.

Hermione still has plenty of insecurities, she always has. The bushy hair, the crooked teeth, both are just memories at this point having been attended to by spell and potion, but the eyes that look in the mirror still don't see entirely clearly. She stumbles over how to explain sure she'll get it wrong. "I suppose because I'm still the girl that people always assume won't have plans and are very much surprised at it when I do," is what she settles for, "whereas if anything I should think you might have the very opposite problem." She still remembers Ron getting bent out of shape over that dance.

"I get by." Draco hasn't really 'dated' since just after the war, and he's not entirely sure the occasional bout of mindless, casual sex really counts as 'having plans', to use her terminology for it. The eyebrow stays up, though, as he says, "You never really struck me as the type to settle into confirmed bachelorette status, though." Signs of /that/ are all over the flat.

Hermione shrugs a little, "If it's meant to happen it will happen I suppose," she says. "I suppose if life were a story, I'd have ended up married to Ron after it all ended and be raising little Weasleys about now, but we weren't really right for each other. He'll do much better with Luna I think." Little Weasleys with Hermione's smarts, a frightening concept isn't it?

"He didn't get you." It's not a question, or a statement that suggests she's some kind of prize, or a thing; rather, Draco is inferring (correctly) that Ron didn't really understand who she was. "No surprise there, he never did." He used to use it as a barb, drop a word here, twist the knife there, and he knows that at least some of the insecurities about her appearance are his fault. There's no insult to his tone now, though, just a statement of fact. "I wouldn't have expected you to just sit back and wait for something to happen, though. It's unlike you, Hermione."

"Maybe if I knew what I wanted it would be different, Draco. I used to be so sure I could make a difference whatever I did. I don't suppose you'd really have any reason to know it, but I did Cho's job a while, when I first finished after NEWTs. I used to want to save the House Elves too, though aside from Dobby they never seemed to appreciate it," Hermione says. Poor Dobby. "Now though... I just don't know any more." It's clear that it frustrates her. Things fell into place so easily for Harry and for Ron, why /not/ her too?

"I know." Draco kept tabs on her, that first year after the war, when Harry and Ron were still sticking it out in Auror training. At first he'd thought it was some sort of guilt, that made him watch out for her, and once he'd come to that conclusion, he'd stopped, right around the time she'd quit. "It's not easy to save the world when nobody else thinks it needs saving."

"I wasn't good enough at it," Hermione says, which isn't wholly true. She was very good at the social work on the whole it was the heart break that came with it that she wasn't good at - particularly the last case. Even the best of social workers can come too late sometimes through no fault of their own. "But I like the library. The children are mostly good and happy and safe... and the only magic they need for sitting still is a good story."

It takes more than a love of books and a love of children to be a good children's librarian, but Draco has no doubt that she's a damn good one. He brings his other hand up to touch her face again, tilting his head slightly as he studies her. "Which still doesn't explain why you're sitting around, waiting for something to happen."

"The Spaniards have a folk hero, Don Quixote... he's a rather comical fellow always tilting at windmills for the honor of the fair Dulcinea. He's rather delusional and mistakes the windmills for knights. I suppose I haven't found any windmills to tilt, nor someone whose honor I would find as dear to defend as my own," Hermione says, with a wry chuckle. She isn't the sort of girl who finds a night out at a club very fun and many of her friends are either married or seriously courting which means that she doesn't get out much with them either. She's restricted her social circle still more in her choice of workplace.

The choice of career, the romance novels, and the Spanish folk hero she chooses to pretend she's emulating only serve to confirm what Draco's already figured out, and he leans closer, his eyes searching hers, his hand still on her cheek. "What is it you're afraid of, Hermione?"

Ginny is more insightful than her brother, though that isn't particularly hard, but it is why she worries over Hermione for all that the older girl accuses her of fussing and sounding like her mother. His question catches at her like a blow, an instant negation rising to her lips. But as though the kidnappers used the potion just for his benefit the remnants of the corrupted airborne veritaserum rise up and change her choice of words. Instead of the instant denial comes a torrent straight from the depths of her insecurities, "I'm always going to be the one left alone. I'm not pretty and or fascinating..." she breaks off and blushing fiercely says, "and damn it if I ever see that man I'll...." Apparently she can't think of anything dire enough for the embarrassment that is the result.

One thing Draco has learned, in his years of studying her, is that it is absolutely pointless to argue with her when she's made up her mind about something. It's a lesson Harry and Ron never really grasped, but it's what prompts him to respond the way he does: he closes the distance between them and kisses her again. Not a fleeting kiss, either, like the previous brushing of lips, though he's surprisingly gentle about it.

Hermione was still trying to determine what was awful enough to be a punishment for the 'boss'. Possibilities that flitted through her head included, but were not limited to: forcing him to drink polyjuice from her cat, forcing him to visit Professor Lockhart at St. Mungo's with a broken bone, and thus have to have to drink skelegrow after the man tries to 'fix' it and making him eat a whole box of the Weasley twins candy (though that seems rather mild). Then out of nowhere, it seems to her anyway, Draco is kissing her again... more surprising, she isn't mad that he's kissing her again. Some of her ire just drains away, though confusion comes to keep the remainder company. She looks particularly vulnerable after when she asks, "Why do you keep doing that?"

"I'm not sure," Draco replies, and while the answer may not be of help, at least it's an honest one. His fingers caress her cheek, then move upward, catching hold of a wavy lock of hair and tugging it straight before letting it go, though his eyes remain on hers. "Because I want to, I suppose, but I don't know /why/ I want to. You're wrong, by the way. About not being pretty or fascinating. I find you to be both." He pauses, and then adds, "And I want to kiss you again."

If it were later in the morning perhaps Hermione would have reminded him that there were still bad guys to catch, Jane to rescue or some other form of distraction. As it happens, the clock has yet to strike five in the morning and even she knows he isn't going to be able to question anyone in order to get the information to do those things this early. And it would have been the easy way out. She hears the sincerity in his voice though the words spark disbelief even so. Despite that nagging sense that those words can't possibly be /right/ she finds herself relaxing just a little until she looks in his eyes again, then hers are caught and she finds herself not speaking but just giving a little, hesitant nod.

Jane is still a priority, but if Draco's going to have any luck with the sample he collected from the thug, he needs to give it time, time for the boss to go to ground, to feel he's safe, to call his lackeys in to keep things secure. Questioning the building supervisor and her neighbors are also on his agenda, but can't really be accomplished at this hour. He's actually a little surprised by the nod, and rather than just lean forward again he edges closer, his hands moving to pull /her/ closer, in a careful, gentle way. Only then does he dip his head again, claiming her lips with his.

It doesn't seem quite real, even as Hermione is sliding into his arms. He doesn't even like her, how can he want to be kissing her? But she finds herself drawn to him all the same as confusing as she finds it. But once his lips settle over hers thoughts flee as she surrenders to the moment and unconsciously her arms tighten around him.

Whatever doubts Draco might have had on whether or not this was a good idea disappear the moment her arms tighten around him, confirming that at least part of her wants this as much as he does. He takes his time, testing his boundaries, and hers, and while it's not the steamy sort of kiss Pansy writes about, and he makes no attempt to really push her or deepen it, it's most definitely not chaste.

A certain tightness inside that Hermione didn't realize she was holding onto loosens and slowly she begins to return the kiss, tentatively at first and then with more assurance. It's been some time since she kissed anyone at all and it feels good.

Given Draco's reputation, the newspaper article, and Pansy's books, it should come as no surprise that he's an excellent kisser. He's not exactly taking the 'Slytherin Sex God' approach here, though, and when she starts to return the kiss, his arms tighten, pulling her closer. One hand trails up her back, then his fingers are in her hair, while the other remains at the small of her back, a gentle, encouraging pressure.

In her dreams Hermione kept waking before the librarian ended up getting kissed by the secret agent, uneasy even in sleep with the notion of Draco Malfoy kissing her - because both hero and heroine kept blending together with the pair of them. She sighs softly against his mouth as he pulls her closer, it may not make sense but kissing him doesn't feel at all wrong. It is beginning to feel all too right.

Right or wrong, Draco couldn't care less, not least because it's not a book, nor is it a dream. Slowly, he pulls her closer yet, his lips parting slightly against hers, though he doesn't press it, leaves it just as an invitation.

One of the hands on his back slides up to the back of his neck, fingers twining in his hair. Perhaps it is the very lack of aggression in the kiss that allows Hermione to relax, let go, and just enjoy it. Her lips part in an almost automatic answer to the invitation of his, deepening the kiss as her mouth continues to learn his.

The deepening of the kiss is a natural progression, by this point, and Draco shifts, then pulls her into his lap, shifting so that it's not uncomfortable to have her there. His hand works free of her hair and moves down, skimming along her side and flirting with more risque areas without really pushing those boundaries yet.

Getting pulled onto his lap just brings her closer to him and makes it more comfortable. While that should, perhaps, be setting off alarm bells for Hermione, it isn't. Even if he were to pull back right now and laugh at her, she's felt a very real response in his kiss. As inconceivable as it may seem, Draco Malfoy really does want to kiss /her/... and apparently she wants just as much to be kissing him from how she's responding.

Slowly, Draco's hand moves upward, feeling the curves beneath the fabric of her sweater. If the way he's pulling her closer is any indication, he very much /does/ want to kiss her, but then he's not the sort of man who would do anything unless he wanted to. Eventually, a need for air has him breaking the kiss, and he tilts his head to rest his forehead against hers.

Her breathing is all ragged by the time Draco breaks the kiss and Hermione's heart is racing. Her eyes slowly open again and look into his. Her fingers are still twining through the hair at the back of his neck reluctant to let go. Desire is drowning the astonishment from her eyes and even holding at bay the negation that will surely come if she thinks too hard about any of this too soon.

Silvery eyes meet brown ones, and Draco's breath hitches in his chest. "Hermione," he breathes, a rough whisper, "do you want to stop?" His eyes search hers for the answer, as his hands keep moving, caressing her through the sweater, promising more than just kisses.

Her body leans into his caresses and Hermione licks her lips as her mouth suddenly goes dry. She couldn't look away from him if she wanted to and that she doesn't want to forces her to admit, in a voice that has gone softer and just a little breathless still, "No, Draco," the hand in his hair coming around to slide gently along the line of his jaw. She may not understand it, but she doesn't want to stop. He makes her feel alive, not just safe though there is that too.

Draco's hands slide downward, locating the hem of the sweater and tugging it just loose enough to slide beneath it, sucking in a breath at the feel of her skin. "Merlin, you feel good," he gets out, silvery eyes darkening with a sudden rush of desire and heat.

Her lips slowly curve when he says that, into a smile that matches the promising spark of heat that lights in Hermione's eyes in response to that in his. She tilts her head to run kisses along the line of his jaw as her hand shifts back into his hair and murmurs when she reaches his ear, "And /you/ taste good."

The comment has his lips curving into a smile, and Draco's hands move upward, bringing the sweater with them, his fingers caressing and stroking her sides, thumbs brushing the edges of her torso. "I want you," he murmurs, turning his head and brushing a kiss to the side of her mouth.

Her bottom shifts a little at his statement and her pulse has already started to leap under his touch. That little shift might have been cruel if she was pushing him away, but she isn't. Kissing the pulse point below his earlobe Hermione gives a throaty little chuckle and murmurs, "I think I might have noticed that..." She nibbles on his earlobe a moment before adding, "I'm finding that I want you too."

That shift draws a low sound from Draco, almost a growl, and his hands run down her back, then catch at her hips. "Not here," he murmurs, his lips brushing the side of her neck. "Not like this. Bed." It's all the warning he gives her before his hands move again, and he gets to his feet, hefting her easily in his arms.

Her arms shift going around his neck when he lifts her though one hand ends up creeping around to stroke his cheek again. She doesn't squeal with surprise or giggle as some girls might when he picks her up. "Careful, you might start getting a reputation for carrying girls around and then where will you be?" Hermione can't help but tease. It is, after all, the second time he's carried /her/ around in less than twenty-four hours. Her bedroom is as she left it, which is to say the four-poster bed shows signs of a restless night being unmade, the covers are pulled most of the way up but the bedding is rumpled.

"Pretty sure I can live with that," Draco murmurs, flashing her a wicked smile as he sets her down on the bed. Though given the heroes of Pansy's novels have a habit of carting their women off to bed, her fans likely already think he's fond of doing the same. He leans in to kiss her again, brief but full of heat, full of promise, and then his hands strip off her sweater, dropping it to the floor.

Draco would probably be glad to know that the last things on Hermione's mind right now are Pansy Parkinson and her novels. She reaches up as soon as he's slipped her sweater off to open and remove his robes. Robes on a bed are far too awkward, better to just get rid of them she figures. Her lips twitch a little in exasperated amusement at the number of layers he's wearing, "Ministry jobs require far too much clothing," she murmurs half-serious, half-teasing. She doesn't have to wear robes all the time for the library, which suits her fine, though she always looks nice for work.

"Dress code's a bitch," Draco agrees, shrugging the robes off his shoulders and then going a step further to pull off his own sweater. He kicks off his shoes and moves to hover over her, on the bed, his mouth descending on hers again, his hands moving to explore the newly bared skin.

Hermione kisses him back and if her hands get in the way of his exploration as she tugs his dress shirt free from his slacks, he certainly seems adaptable. Some of the soft sounds of approval she makes are swallowed by the kiss, but she seems to be appreciating not just what his hands and mouth are doing, but the form she's exposing as she slowly unbuttons his dress shirt. As might be guessed from how easily he was lifting her, she's discovered very nice muscles under that shirt.

When they were at school, Draco was tall and slender, but he's filled out quite a bit in the last few years, enough to make her exploration of his chest a very worthwhile experience. His hands caress her through the thin material of her bra, then reach around her to locate the clasp, his mouth leaving hers and traveling downward, whispering her name, his breath hot on her skin.

Hermione's head falls back against the pillows again when Draco's mouth leaves hers, though her hands continue to run over his chest before finally moving up to his shoulders so she can slide the shirt off altogether, tugging the sleeves down and off. Then there's the muscles of his back demanding due exploration as well, even as her own body shifts under his attentions.

Lifting his hands one at a time as she tugs at his sleeves, Draco pulls free of his shirt, then finishes removing her bra. He drops it to join the rest of the clothes on the floor, then runs his hands unhindered over her chest, his mouth moving further downward, planting open-mouthed kisses on the hollow of her throat, then following the line of her collarbones.

Whenever his mouth hits some particularly sensitive spot Hermione's breath almost seems to catch. Her hands can't seem to get enough of touching him either, gliding over bare skin as though memorizing every detail for some future examination. As her past would attest, Hermione gives anything she chooses to study her 112%.

He wanted to move slowly, take his time with her, draw out the pleasure, but she's making it awfully difficult. His hands brush across her stomach, then reach unerringly for the clasp of her jeans, and his mouth moves further down, teasing at the rise of a breast.

And Hermione hasn't even touched him below the waist yet. There's a soft little gasp of pleasure as his mouth moves further, she almost feels as though all of her senses have been heightened so ultra aware of him and everything he's doing she is. Her hands run up and down his sides slowly.

Draco's hands work the button and then the zipper of her jeans, then his fingers curl in the waistband to pull them downward. All the while, his mouth explores her chest, and he makes a low sound of appreciation, both of the taste of her skin and the noises she's making.

Hermione lifts her bottom as Draco pulls on her jeans, which doesn't get them off but it IS a start. She tries to get them further off without kicking him doing it or pulling away. She /definitely/ doesn't want to do that.

"Mmmph." It's a small, frustrated sound, muffled by her breast, and Draco is forced to lift his head, so that he can give her jeans his full attention. Long enough to remove them, anyway, and then he reaches for her knickers, pulling them free with a lot less difficulty.

Contrary to what some people might expect given most of her wardrobe is suited to a librarian, there's nothing granny-ish about Hermione's lingerie. But Draco has the lacy knickers gone in a flash once the jeans are taken care of. She holds out her arms to him, "Come back here, you're too far away," she murmurs softly, her voice carrying in it desire.

When she holds her arms out, it tugs at Draco's heart, and his eyes flick up to her face as he smiles, holding her gaze as he strips off the last of his clothing. Then he returns to the bed, to her arms, his mouth claiming hers for a deep, hungry kiss.

When he comes back to her, Hermione wraps her arms around him, settling into his embrace like she means to stay a while. She lifts her lips to meet him even as his mouth is descending with a little mmm at the deliciousness of the kiss.

The absence of clothing, combined with the way she responds to his kiss, pretty much smashes the rest of Draco's resolve to take things slow. His hands cup her chest, then stroke downward, roving over her stomach and then further down, fingertips caressing the curves of her hips and then tracing the line of her pelvic bone before moving farther still.

The onslaught of sensation his roaming hands creates has needy little whimpers escaping from Hermione into his mouth even as she keeps kissing him passionately. Her hands trail up and down his back, slowly moving lower with each descent until she runs a hand down to cup his bottom a moment. She doesn't linger anywhere for long.

"Hermione," Draco breathes, panting for air as the kiss breaks, dipping his head to nuzzle at her neck, his back arching a bit at her touch. His hands move downward, fingertips expertly seeking sensitive flesh to toy with, and his mouth trails downward as well. "Tell me this is what you want."

Oh damn but the man knows what to do with his hands and mouth, doesn't he? Hermione's breathing is completely ragged when the kiss breaks, her body shifting restlessly under his attention. It all feels so good. "Oh, yessssss." she replies as her hands continue to roam over his back and down to his very fine butt.

Draco's hands know their business, his fingers knowing just how to touch her, and his mouth is making its slow way back down. He breathes her name, his breath hot against her skin, his elbows gently nudging her knees farther apart to give him room to play.

Her nails gently graze over his back as he slides down eventually leaving only head, shoulders and the uppermost reaches of his back within touching distance which doesn't keep her from caressing the skin she /can/ reach. Hermione draws in a breath as he gently nudges her knees apart and when she lets it out again his name comes out as a soft sigh of pleasure.

Slowly, steadily, Draco works his way down her body, his fingers still moving, still toying. His tongue swirls in her navel, then he moves lower, his hands withdrawing and moving to nudge her legs farther apart as his mouth picks up the exploration where his fingers left off.

There are certainly times when Hermione comes across uptight, but it doesn't seem that this is going to be one of those times not by a long shot. From the uninhibited look of desire on her face to the soft gasps and sounds of pleasure she's making and the way her body is responding to him it is passion that rules her right now.

Certainly, Draco seems to know precisely how to play her body, and he brings one hand back to assist with his mouth in rendering her thoroughly incapable of coherent thought. Which appears to be his goal, presently, and one he pursues with almost single-minded focus.

And already her body has started to tremble as the pleasure induced tremors course through it. There's a soft, ragged and almost surprised "Ohhhhhh," as the building pleasure reaches the point where it explodes on her, thrumming through her veins and tingling over every inch of her skin. Hermione has a look of dazed satisfaction, like a cat that unexpectedly falls into a pot of cream.

Experienced as Draco is, he waits for that crest of pleasure to fade, waits for the trembling to stop, before lifting his head, his expression justifiably smug as he makes his way back up her body, hovering over her. His hand remains, to provide guidance for the next act, and he leans in to breathe a warning of, "Brace yourself," before slowly settling his hips forward.

Hermione's arms slip back around him as he moves up to cover her. His warning prompts a slow smile. If he thinks she needs something to hold onto it seems her hands find his butt a good choice. Certainly she's not feeling any of the frustration of not being ready for him, he made very sure of that.

The warning was more out of consideration, as Draco has no idea how long it's been since she's been with anyone, and he's aware of what happens to the female body in the interim. His previous ministrations have left her quite ready, though, and he can't suppress a groan at the way she feels, around him. For a moment, his control slips, just a little, and he ends up thrusting harder than he'd planned, and has to pause to recover himself.

It's been a while since Hermione and Ron broke up, so it has indeed been a while since she's been with anyone. She can't suppress a gasp or the involuntary way her fingers clench when he thrusts but in that pause she holds him to her as her body adjusts to the size and heat of him filling her. "Draco..." His name is a soft whispery almost purr, desire heating her eyes as she looks into his.

"Hermione." Draco's voice is rough as he says her name, his hands brushing up her sides before moving to either side so he can brace himself and get the leverage he needs to start moving, pulling back slowly before thrusting forward again with another groan. He wants to take it slow, wants to savor every second, but she's making it awfully hard for him to focus.

Hermione could probably tell you exactly how many nerve endings there are in the human body, but right now she is merely experiencing how very alive they /all/ are, how sensitive to sensation some in particular may be. She keeps hold of him even as he starts to move fingers involuntarily squeezing his butt when he thrusts even as soft little sounds of pleasure escape her lips.

It's a safe bet that Draco very likely knows just as much about nerve endings as Hermione does, but it's not something he's presently thinking about. Even as his hips move in a slow rhythm, his sole focus is her, taking his cues from the way her body shifts beneath him, the way she moans, the rise and fall of her chest. More than anything else, he wants this to be as memorable for her as it will be for him.

He is apparently doing quite well at reading those cues as she moves under him, her voice a chorus of her pleasure. "Draco," His name comes with a little catch in the breathy little voice that is all that is left to Hermione as she slides her arms around his waist. From how he's got her feeling any moment now he'll push her over the edge again, but she wants... "Come... too?" As her hips lift to meet him she can feel the shift as waves of sensation wash over her and she clings more tightly to him.

Draco's restraint shatters completely at her request, and he thrusts harder, driving himself even deeper as he lets go of his control. His head lowers, feeling her quiver beneath him, and a final thrust is accompanied by a muted cry that's muffled by the curve of her shoulder. He doesn't pause for long, though, his hips moving again to carry them both through the peak of pleasure and beyond.

She cries out more than once as she holds onto him and rides out the waves of intense pleasure that have overwhelmed her. Hermione's world shatters and rebuilds itself anew, all the while she clings to Draco and at the height of it all it is his name she cries out. She doesn't let go of him even as she's trying to get her breathing to slow again, for now the weight of him feels good and she continues to hold him to her. Still a little dazed she smiles at him anyway, not ready to speak yet.

It's a testament to Draco's experience that he keeps moving, slowing gradually until he finally comes to a halt, his arms wrapping around her, his elbows holding just enough of his weight that he doesn't crush her beneath him. Then he pulls back just enough to see her face, his lips curving in an answering smile before he leans down to brush his lips to hers. "You're incredible," he murmurs.

"And you are amazing," Hermione murmurs back, dark eyes gazing up at him. She doesn't let go, but her arms loosen enough that she can rub a hand lightly against his back. For once the veritaserum aftereffects don't make her admit that she was wrong in thinking the newspaper article all lies.

Apparently the Slytherin Sex God title wasn't far wrong, not that Draco is thinking of the newspaper article at all, at this point. His eyes are still a few shades darker than their usual silvery hue, and he brings a hand up to touch her cheek, gently. "You are so beautiful, Hermione."

Hermione isn't actively thinking about the article either, but that doesn't mean it couldn't slip out anyhow. "You really believe that, don't you?" she replies softly, though it doesn't come out completely a question, as she continues to gaze at him. Hard as she finds it to believe, she can see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he says it.

"I really do," Draco confirms, leaning in to brush her lips with his again. "I couldn't lie to you if I tried, and even if I could I wouldn't do it." His hand brushes her cheek again, and then his smile turns wicked once more. "But if you require more proof, I believe I'm... up... to the task." He hips move, and he withdraws from her slowly, teasingly so, but before he can break the connection completely he reverses directions abruptly and thrusts almost roughly back into her, pinning her hips with his.

Hermione's eyes open wide and whatever words she was about to say are transformed into a gasp that changes into a low moan. One arm slides up his back to his neck and her fingers thread through the hair at the back of his neck, "Amazing... definitely the right word," she murmurs, and if it comes out a bit weak well... circumstances. Then she leans up just a little so that she can kiss him.

"Brace yourself," Draco murmurs, against her lips, an echo of what he'd said to her earlier, before deepening the kiss aggressively, his lips and tongue staking claim to her as his hips move again, the thrusts slow at first but getting faster, hard enough almost to hurt, except that the pleasure far outweighs the pain.

The arm around his waist tightens automatically, holding on to /him/ for the support she needs. Hermione kisses him back fervently, crying out into his mouth as her body rocks under his in a rhythm as old as time. Her lips and tongue answer the demands of his, the passionate kiss above mimicking the ardent yielding of flesh below.

Even with the fast, primal pace Draco has set, he's still paying attention to /her/ needs, the rough thrusting of his hips accompanied by an occasional sideways motion that grinds against her and drives him deeper. His own cry is muffled by the kiss as well, one arm sliding underneath her to lift her and hold her closer, every movement drawing an almost gutteral grunt from him.

Her fingers slide out of his hair down to clutch his shoulders even as the arm around his back tightens as the fire coursing through her becomes an inferno that overcomes her with a climax even more powerful in intensity than the last two he drove her to. Hermione hooks a leg around him as though to hold him to her even while her body rides out the spasms of obliviating pleasure.

Draco's back tightens, his body shaking with the effort of holding himself in check just long enough to bring her up over that crest before he loses it completely. His hips still as the rest of him tremors, his arm tightening around her, almost uncomfortably so.

The rising and falling of her chest finally begins to slow in infinitely small increments as the tremors ease off allowing her pulse to slowly get closer to normal. Hermione kisses him, a nice, leisurely kiss. Her leg falls back but her arms remain curiously unwilling to relinquish him and remain tightly clasped around his back. Her eyes open but slowly, dazed as she looks at him and what pops out of her mouth when she speaks is nothing less than the truth and what's more veritaserum or not she doesn't sound displeased by it, "You've completely ruined me for other men." Not that Hermione was really interested in anyone recently anyway but... wow.

Slowly, Draco's arms loosen enough so he's not hindering her breathing, and he returns her kiss, equally leisurely. Then she speaks, and he smiles, dropping his head to kiss her shoulder. "I suppose I'll just have to keep you to myself, then, won't I?"

"I can't believe I just said that," Hermione says, one hand stroking his side a little though her arms don't loosen from around him. "But that being the case, I suppose that would only be fair, hmm?"

"Mmm. I suppose it's only fair to warn you that I really don't believe in playing fair." Draco's hand comes up to brush through her hair, and he lowers his head to kiss her again. "I've also been known to play very unfairly to get what I want."

Hermione is still chuckling when he kisses her again. "Mmm, depends on how you define fair I suppose... and what you want." She doesn't /always/ play fair herself, there are times when it would be quite stupid after all. In personal relations though she does on the whole at least try to be fair. Though she doesn't voice it there is a small bit of amusement that comes into her eyes as she recalls a famous muggle quote: "All's fair in love and war."

"What I want should be obvious enough, by now." Draco's hand trails down her cheek, then along her side. "I want you, Hermione. I'm not talking about just this, either," he adds, with a slow roll of his hips.

She can't help the moan that that roll of his hips prompts. It /isn't/ fair how good he makes her feel so easily. "I won't say that it doesn't still confuse me a little still but I do believe you," Hermione replies. He is one of the last people that she'd have ever expected to want her /this/ way much less on a deeper level. And yet... there is the thoughtfulness he's shown toward her recently that marks it as sincere. He seems to understand what she needs almost before she even knows she needs it and she isn't used to that, isn't used to having someone take care of her needs. It is a little bit frightening but attractive as well.

"I can't explain it, I don't really understand it," Draco admits, a little growl in his voice as that roll of his hips has him wanting her all over again. "I just know that I want you." He rolls his hips again, slowly, and turns his head to claim her lips with his.

She certainly picked the right word earlier when she said he was amazing. Hermione doesn't have time to make a reply before his lips settle on hers again, though that second roll has her whimpering into his mouth. She never knew it was possible to be shown so much pleasure so many times as he's shown her or that she could want someone so much. If it is greedy to want him again so soon after the last time then he makes her feel greedy but then it is certainly his own fault and given he's showing definite signs of wanting her too she rather doubts either of them will go unsatisfied.

It's getting closer to morning, and Draco is keenly aware of how little time is left before he'll have to start working on the potion. His hips move slowly, his moan muffled by the deepening kiss, his hands moving to stroke her skin, hungry for her in a way he's never been for anyone else.

Her hands have resumed moving over his skin as well, running over him as if by feel alone she can solve the mystery of why he wants her or failing that to prevent it from ending. She hasn't consciously acknowledged it yet, but she doesn't want him to stop wanting her. Her touch holds a possessiveness that she isn't ready to voice.

The rather incredible stamina is one of the reasons why Pansy coined the phrase 'Slytherin Sex God', but the way he moves suggests that his wanting isn't entirely about the sex. He's not any more ready to give voice to it than she is, though, so he keeps his mouth on hers, breaking the kiss here and there only long enough to gasp for breath and murmur her name before picking it back up again. There's an echoing possessiveness in the way his hands rove over her body, the way his hips roll slowly, back and forth, staking his claim to every part of her he can reach even as she's doing the same to him.

His name is echoed back on those breaks, not on a murmur but in a breathy little moan. The third time the kiss breaks there's a little 'my' tacked on to his name, though she doesn't notice she's added it being more than a little distracted by how the sensations have been building up yet again. It doesn't still her hands they keep stroking and caressing all of the skin within reach of them.

She may not realize it, but that 'my' resonates all the way through him, and his hips thrust a little more sharply in response. It's a measure of his self-control that he doesn't speak it, though it's in his head now with every thrust, and his lips meet hers fiercely, to stifle the 'mine' that's this close to bubbling to the surface. Draco gives as much as he takes, though, surrendering himself to her touch, letting her past the last of his barriers as the pleasure builds once more until there's no doubt that what he wants is her, and to /be/ hers, even though he can't bring himself to say it.

Eventually all she can do is cling to him again, too caught up in a pleasure so great as to almost be dizzying. Her cries are only partially muffled by the kiss when she comes again so intensely that it brings tears to her eyes. Through it all she holds onto him, arms locked around his body and eyes locked onto his eyes, holding both to her as an anchor as her world falls apart again in the best possible way.

Draco's cries mingle with hers in the kiss, his body shuddering with hers at the same moment, the climax so intense there are bright spots in his vision for several moments afterward. His arms tighten around her, cradling her like a precious jewel, still kissing her to avoid saying anything particularly profound and stupid.

The tears in her eyes slowly fall down her cheeks adding a bit of salty dampness to the kiss. Hermione couldn't even say why she's crying unless it is the beauty of the moment. Her eyes still hold something of the awe of it in them. She isn't sure if she even /could/ speak right now, though it is a moot point. In her heart an incredible, incurable longing has taken root, a longing to be his and for him to be hers - for this not to just be a moment.

A similar longing has hooked Draco, though he's not yet aware of just how deep it goes. Slowly, with a great deal of care and even tenderness, he winds the kiss down, his lips finally parting from hers, and he lets out a quiet sigh. Time is ticking away in his head, but he puts it off for as long as he can. "I don't want to get up," he admits, once he's found his voice again.

One hand steals up to caress his cheek softly in a gesture of infinite tenderness as Hermione regards him, "But Jane needs you and I think... I think I am just going to sleep a while. Use the lab if you want." From the heavy-lidded eyes as she looks at him with a gentle smile she isn't far from it now. Between the exercise and not having slept the night before she can no doubt use the rest. "Mirror if you need me for anything?"

Turning his head, Draco kisses her fingertips before slowly withdrawing from her. "Sleep will do you good, and I'll be in the lab for a while. I'm going to have a very small window of opportunity to find them, but I'll mirror to let you know how it goes, either way." He leans in to brush another kiss to her lips before getting to his feet.

Hermione nods sleepily, curling up under the covers and murmuring a soft, "Good luck." That it is merely that and not a string of cautions, nor reminders to leave the wards up when he goes shows a great degree of trust both in that he'll look after her safety and that he won't do anything foolishly careless where his own is concerned. Her eyes drift closed even as her arms cross around herself, holding the memory of him close in her arms as she sleeps.

Draco spends a moment just looking down at her, then he bends over to pick his clothes from among hers on the floor, pulling on boxers and trousers and shirt before padding down to the lab, his robe over his arm. The ingredients he's brought from his own lab go on the table beside the cauldron, then he gets the rest from among her stores. It helps that her lab is almost as well-organized as his, and it doesn't take him long to lose himself in the simple motions of potion-making. He works with a quiet efficiency, no motion wasted, but it's still a time-consuming process, and the minutes are ticking away again, in his head.

Hermione is quite, quite deeply asleep. So deeply in fact that dreams come only as glimmers, barely registering on her mind, though in her sleep she smiles just a little. She needed the rest rather badly and even with it she's likely to wake up sore in a number of places given the amount of unaccustomed exercise. However, it will provide ample proof that she didn't /dream/ the whole thing.

After the first potion is simmering away, Draco turns his attention to the second cauldron, having noted from her inventory that she has no potions made already to help with the morning-after discomfort. It's not something he's made before, but Pansy mentioned it, once, and he remembers her notes on the formula. The second potion takes considerably less time than the first, and he pads to the kitchen to set it on the table, penning a quick note to go with it. By the time he's finished, the tracking potion is nearly done, and he pulls on the rest of his clothing so that he's ready by the time the time is up. Dipping the pendant into the potion, he smirks to himself as it starts to glow red. He spends a few minutes cleaning up the lab, afterward, then returns to the bedroom to brush a kiss to her cheek, brushing his hand over her hair. Then he makes sure the wards are secure before letting himself out, his eyes going cold as he sets out to locate the men who've kidnapped Jane.

Hermione sighs softly in her sleep when he kisses her cheek, but her eyes don't flutter open nor does she stir further. Not even the quiet snick of the door closing wakes her, nor Crookshanks hopping up on the bed and curling up at her feet. She's down for the count, the only thing that would wake her when she sleeps this deeply would be if her wards were disturbed since they are tied to alert her.


	5. Chapter 05

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

**Author's Note:** Sorry it's taken so long to update, but the holidays came up, and then I didn't have a laptop for nearly two weeks. We were waiting to post Chapter 5 until it was finished, and then it got really long, so we've broken it up into three chapters (so far), meaning 5 and 6 are officially complete. Kudos to margaritama for this story's single review thus far, and a big shout-out to bookaddict19, my 'partner in crime', so to speak.

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After leaving Hermione's flat, Draco apparated to the countryside, to begin his hunt for the henchman he'd gotten the blood sample from. That the arrow continues to point in a single direction is a good sign, it means the thugs are stationary, but it's still not an easy process, because it doesn't indicate distance at all. On the plus side, he's not being directed back into the city, so he won't have to search through the narrow streets there.

It was some time still later when Hermione finally woke again, not in a start or harshly out of a dream, but rather just gradually. Brown eyes open to find Crookshanks sitting looking at her knowingly. Briefly she considers just staying in bed a while longer, rarely does she really have a good lie in, but given the insistent way her cat is purring he wants feeding. There's a slight wince of discomfort as she gets up, gathering up her clothes again she slowly makes her way to the bathroom for a shower. He can wait until then. Still sleep-fogged her mind feels a curious disinclination to over analyze for once. She can't make sense of what happened, but neither can she deny that it happened and it was _amazing_.

Draco is narrowing the distance slowly but surely, closing in on the little cottage where the thugs have holed up, and half a mile out he encounters the first of the wards. It takes him but a few moments to disarm them in such a way that those in the cottage will not be alerted to his presence, and he moves closer, alert for the next ring of wards.

Showered and dressed once more Hermione gingerly makes her way back to the kitchen, putting out some food for Crookshanks before she spots the note and potion from Draco. Picking up the note she leans against the counter to read it. When she gets to the explanation of the potion she smiles at the thoughtfulness of it, certainly she couldn't see Ron ever having thought of doing that for her... or really risking it if he did given his potion "skills". Harry and Ron never were all that good at potions after all aside from the year that Harry had that book. She drinks the potion down, surprised to find that it doesn't even taste awful, before putting the pot on for tea. Rummaging around in the icebox she pulls out bread and slices a few pieces to make toast with.

Four more rings of wards bar his path, but Draco has little difficulty getting through them. He makes his way carefully around the perimeter, locating exits and entrances, and verifying for certain that his quarry is inside. It doesn't take him long, and he makes a second pass, setting up his own series of wards, to keep them from escaping the way they'd done back at the warehouse.

The toast ends up a bit singed as she rereads the note again but not so much that it isn't edible and Hermione manages not to pour boiling hot water on herself despite her distraction while making tea this time. The note gets tucked into her pocket. She puts together a tray with the tea things and toast, and carries it out into the living room with her. Crookshanks follows, licking his breakfast from his chops and eying the buttered toast. Greedy cat.

When he's finished the wards, Draco returns to the front door, tugs his lapel straight, and blows the door into the room, surprising the three thugs who are in the main room of the cottage. One is the same guy whose nose he'd bloodied the previous day, and Draco finds a certain satisfaction in dropping him with a Stupefy while he's still staring stupidly at him.

Hermione picks up the potions book a moment, turning it in her hands as if holding it can give her insight into its owner, but sets it down again. Once she's begun on the toast she finds she's actually pretty hungry and so she works through the short stack of toast slices fairly quickly. She isn't hungry enough to bother get up to fix more, however. Instead she fixes herself another cup of tea realizing in the process that Draco knew how she took her tea. At least after getting some good sleep she isn't quite so jumpy, the realization doesn't make her drop her tea or startle her instead putting a thoughtful smile on her face.

The other two thugs fare about as well as their companion, though one of them manages to attempt a spell of his own before he's dropped by another Stupefy. Draco stalks through the cottage, wand at the ready, and runs into two more thugs before reaching the bedroom where Jane is being held captive. The woman is bound to a chair in one corner, and the mastermind behind all of this is ready for the incoming rescuer, a bolt of green light greeting Draco once he's opened the door. Fortunately, he's able to dodge out of the way, but rather than retreat he presses forward, advancing on the man and firing a Stupefy followed by the disarming spell that was Harry's favorite.

Hermione doesn't do waiting well, particularly when she isn't busy. So when she's finished with her tea her thoughts aren't enough to occupy her. She's getting fidgety so she busies herself with tidying the flat. It's while she's in the middle of doing dishes the muggle way that there comes a tap-tap-tapping on her door. Taking her hands out of the soapy water she dries them carefully on a dishtowel, pulls out her wand and makes her way over to the door. Peering through the peek hole she relaxes when she sees that it is Ginny. She relaxes the wards just enough to open the door to admit her, "Ginny? I wasn't expecting you. Where are the boys?" As soon as the other girl steps through back up go the wards.

"Dewitt," Draco snarls, silver eyes flashing with anger. "I should have known it was you." He jabs the end of his wand into the other man's throat and is awarded with a low grunt. "Very good, Malfoy, I wondered when you were going to get here," Dewitt drawls, with a smug grin. "Truth be told, I expected you yesterday, after seeing how Gunther came back." He glances toward the chair, where Jane is watching them warily. "I assume you're here for the woman."

"Oh Harry got home early. I thought he should have some time with the boys so I slipped away for a visit." Ginny replies, looking a bit frazzled. Hermione reads the translation in the other girl's expression, her godsons were being utter hellions this morning and Harry by coming home early is giving Ginny a much needed and well-deserved break. "There's still tea in the pot if you'd like, I was just in the middle of a clean up." "Oh that'll be smashing. Is everything all right, Hermione?" Ginny asks as she follows her into the kitchen to get a teacup.

"I'll be taking you in, as well," Draco replies, straightening. "Oh, I think not, Malfoy, not this time." Dewitt makes a gesture, and a second wand appears in his off hand. Draco snarls, but he's not fast enough, and the spell hits him squarely in the chest, knocking his wand from his hand as well as knocking him backwards. He lunges for Dewitt, manages to grab hold of the man's hair, but he gets away, leaving Draco with a fistful of hair. Snarling, he shoves it into a pocket and retrieves his wand, then composes his features so that he's not quite as scary when he releases Jane from her bonds. "Draco Malfoy, I'm an Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he says, before digging his mirror from another pocket and calling for backup, finally.

Hermione gets a teacup down from the cupboard instead of answering and hands it to Ginny, "One moment... I should rinse these or I'll only have to do them again." That taken care of she follows Ginny back out into the living room and refreshes her own teacup after pouring a cup for her friend. "Doing a bit of light reading, Hermione?" Ginny asks, eying the potions book. Then her eye falls on the Parkinson novel, which still lies where Hermione threw it against the wall and she smirks.

It doesn't take the backup team long to arrive at the cottage, and Draco hands off the arrests to his team, electing to escort Jane to St. Mungo's personally. The five thugs are rounded up for transport back to London, and Draco assists Jane out of the house so that he can Apparate them directly to the hospital. All the while he's murmuring soothingly at her that she's safe, that Johnny's all right, that he'll be sure she's reunited with her son as soon as she's been looked at and it's safe to get him to her.

"Something like tha..." Hermione cuts off upon seeing the direction of Ginny's gaze. And then she starts to laugh. "That's about the third time it has hit the wall," she admits. "I still say he must be an absolutely /fabulous/ shag, Hermione." Ginny says fanning herself and sipping her tea. "The word you are looking for is /amazing/ Ginny. He's /amazing/..." Hermione trails off and screams loudly. Ginny meanwhile is choking on her tea though she manages to stop coughing tea when Hermione starts screaming and there's a definite war between curiosity and concern. "Well really Hermione, you can't make a statement like that and just leave it. What's happened?"

"What do you mean, when it's safe?" Jane asks, frowning. Draco's explanation has to wait, though, as the healers insist he wait in the hall in order to protect her modesty while she's examined and treated. Though she wasn't as mistreated as Hermione was, there are still concerns, particularly where her state of mind is concerned. Finally, he's allowed back into the room, and then he explains, carefully, that there's still danger because Dewitt got away, and that he was hired by her in-laws to get to her son. Needless to say, Jane doesn't take this news very well.

Hermione picks up the potions book and flips through until she comes to page 241. "Well I meant to tell you the other day... but then the bloody Parkinson article came up and it has been really crazy since then..." she says, rereading with a frown. "Bloody hell I'm not going to leave the house for the next three weeks if my mouth is going to run away with me like this I may just die of embarrassment." Ginny nudges her. "You were explaining..." she suggests. "Oh. Right. Well it all started with story hour the day before you had me over for breakfast..."

After fully securing the room, Draco mirrors Cho, who is able to reassure Jane that her son has been very well cared-for. Johnny is still missing his mother, but he's doing much better now that he's been reunited with his dog, and she agrees to arrange for safehousing for both mother and boy until the MLE can locate Dewitt and thus eliminate the danger he poses them.

Hermione slowly explains to Ginny - slowly because Ginny keeps interrupting - about Johnny, Jane and her own adventures. "Merlin Hermione!" Ginny says, shaking her head temporarily distracted at least by Hermione's adventures from asking again about just /how/ Hermione knows Draco is amazing in bed.

Following the conversation with Cho, the healers come back in to give Jane something to help her rest, giving Draco enough of a break that he can call his team and make arrangements for security. One of them will remain at St. Mungo's at all times, and as soon as the first one arrives he heads out, intending to get the hairs back to his lab so that he can work on tracking Dewitt. It doesn't even occur to him to call Hermione and let her know Jane has been found, so intent is he on locating his quarry.

"So he's looking for Jane now..." Hermione finishes, glancing at the clock briefly. A six hour window on the tracking potion. The thought sets her fretting though Ginny's presence is a small distraction. Particularly since the next words of her mouth are, "But that doesn't explain what you said before. Come on Hermione... tell." Damn. She hoped Ginny would have forgotten, no such luck. "I hate damn Japanese black market potions. Airborne veritaserum... figures that it has extra side effects." Hermione grumbles. Ginny looks at her expectantly, "Spill."

Rather than Apparate directly from Mungo's, Draco elects to make for a nearby alley, which will provide some measure of privacy. Two paces into the alley, he senses movement in the shadows, but he's not quick enough to evade the swing of a bat to his ribs, which draws a grunt of pain from him. A second blow lands to the side of his head and knocks him off his feet, and then his attacker kicks him, repeatedly. He can feel himself fading, losing consciousness, and fights to stay awake, but he can't keep his unknown assailant from rifling through his pockets. Flailing with one hand, he feels a momentary satisfaction when his fingernails dig into flesh, though his attacker swears and kicks him again.

"I can't really explain it, Ginny, it just sort of happened... and it doesn't really make sense," Hermione says, "but if you think I'm going into detail you're mad." Ginny's mirror goes off. "Uhm, Ginny... Sorry to bother you but James just fed Albus soap flakes. What do I do?" Harry asks in that pathetically helpless way he's got when he's out of his depth. Ginny sighs. "I'll be home in a few minutes." Whatever Harry starts to reply is lost because she shuts the mirror. "Honestly I can't even get out for an hour... will you still be able to take the boys after brunch tomorrow Hermione?" Hermione stands to let her out. "Of course. Good luck."

The final indignity is that the bastard takes Draco's wand, and then his backup wand, though he makes the mistake of leaving him his mirror, probably confident that the great Draco Malfoy is far too proud to call for help. Less than a day ago, he'd have been right, but that was before Draco and Hermione spent most of a morning together. Once he's sure he's alone in the alley, he digs his mirror out and flips it open, passing his thumb across it in just the right sequence to call her mirror.

Hermione shuts the door after Ginny, flings her wards back up with careless ease and then... her mirror goes off. She hurries over to it, snatching it up and flipping it open only to see Draco looking none too well, "Draco! Where are you?" she asks, concern evident.

With a groan, Draco manages to sit up, and he leans back against the alley wall. "Nnngh. Two blocks west of Mungo's, there's an alley - I was ambushed, they took my wand. Can you come?" He doesn't sound desperate, or pleading, but there's still a look in his eyes as though the request costs him something.

"Don't be silly, of course I'll come." Hermione says matter-of-factly, making her way down the hall, mirror still in hand to grab her med-kit and back-up wand. "I'll be there in a moment." She doesn't shut the mirror on him in case he has anything further to say, but sets it on the counter while she puts on her coat and gloves, tucking kit and extra wand away before picking up mirror and her own wand again.

"Lock up your flat," Draco advises weakly. "And feed your cat, it might be a while before we get back there." He's none too comfortable with bringing her into danger again, and he'd rather not have it follow her home.

"All right." Hermione agrees. "I'll be there soon," she reiterates before shutting the mirror and taking care of putting out some dry food and fresh water for Crookshanks. He doesn't particularly like it, but if he gets hungry he'll eat it. Then she tightens up the warding on her flat making the adjustments that will allow her or someone with her to apparate in, but will not allow it of others. She apparates directly to Mungo's waiting room and leaves from there walking briskly and keeping a sharp eye out and her hand on her wand in her pocket as she approaches the alley.

Tucking the mirror away again, Draco leans back once more and closes his eyes, trying to catalog all of his injuries, knowing he's coming up short. He's still not entirely comfortable with drawing Hermione into this mess, but of the very short list of people he trusts, she's currently at the top, and she can take care of herself to boot.

Her wand comes out as she steps into the alley, eyes narrowed as she scans it but the only thing moving is a rat by one of the garbage dumpsters at the far end. Hermione spots Draco where he leans against the wall of a building and rushes over with a soft, "It's me," as she reaches him before she kneels down by his side, still watching for movement as she does so, "Do you think you can stand so we can get you somewhere a bit more congenial? I brought my med-kit and I've a spare wand you can try... it isn't ideal, of course, but I thought perhaps better than nothing."

Silver eyes open to meet her brown ones, and he nods. "Think so. Might need a hand, though, the bastard's cracked a couple of ribs, maybe as many as three." He's unsure of whatever other damage might have been done, but he's pretty sure about that much, at least.

Hermione nods and takes out the spare wand to hand him for the moment. Her own wand stays out in her hand even as she slowly and carefully works an arm around him to help him first sit up and then to stand, "Nice and slow then. Do you want to go to Mungo's or someplace else?" she gives him the option, she's patched up others before but it isn't as though she's a fully trained Healer.

"Mungo's is too risky. I can Apparate, I think, just - nnnnngh - give me a moment." Draco pants a little, suppressing a groan as he gets to his feet with her help. "Just... a moment. Hold on, Hermione, I'd rather not splinch either of us." That said, he focuses on his destination and Apparates them to his house outside the city.

"Take your time," Hermione says calmly, keeping her arm around him supporting some of his weight while keeping an eye on the mouth of the alley. Her grip on him shifts only slightly when he moves to apparate. "Let's see about getting you fixed up then," she says when they arrive at what she presumes is his house. "I've done some of that before and you needn't worry that the potions will make you all foggy-headed, the ones in my kit I made and I adjusted some of the formulas as I hate that particular effect." Hermione prefers to be able to think instead of having that dopey feeling you get from some potions.

They've arrived in his study, and Draco gestures toward the sofa. "Why... does that not... surprise me?" he asks, but the sarcasm is weak, evidence of how much he's hurting. With her help, he settles painfully on the sofa, his breath coming in short gasps. "I trust you," he murmurs, looking up at her.

Once Draco is settled Hermione gets out the kit and opens it up. It is quite neat and organized so she immediately pulls two stoppered containers, "Drink this one first, it will set your ribs to mending. It isn't going to taste good so don't spit it out. The other isn't any treat but it will take the taste of the first out of your mouth and will work on the pain," she advises as she offers him the potion bottles one at a time. Only then does she begin removing a jar of bruise balm and a small spray bottle of a disinfectant that also stops bleeding and reduces swelling.

"What, do I look like I'm twelve?" Draco arches a brow at her, then cuts it with a rather pained smile before downing the first bottle. He doesn't spit it out, but he grimaces as he swallows it, and chases it quickly with the second potion. "Merlin, that was vile." He reaches for her hand, fingers catching the back of her wrist. "Give it a minute to kick in before starting on the bruises? Shouldn't take long."

"Hmm, no, you were a good deal shorter at twelve," Hermione replies, "and I was planning to. I've done this a few times before." She was merely getting the supplies out so she'd have them ready after all. She sets down the jar of bruise balm next to him for the moment and tucks the spray in her pocket while her hands run very, very gently over his head. "Quite a bump you've got here," she comments as she pulls the spray out of her pocket again. She adjusts her hand so that none of it will get in his eyes as she lets a fine mist of it settle over the bump.

Draco hisses just a little at the coldness of the spray, his eyes closing at the feel of her hands in his hair. "Hit me with a bat, couple of times," he explains, quietly. Then something else occurs to him and he says, "Jane's fine. She's safe, in Mungo's."

Hermione gently tilts his head with her hands, "You're lucky in where it landed, really, it didn't knock you out as I daresay they meant to. That should bring the swelling down. I'm glad Jane is safe." Though something in her tone says she's more concerned with /him/ right now. She looks him over carefully, opening the jar of bruise balm and dabbing a little here and there with gentle, competent hands. "That takes care of what I can see... where else?"

"You'll have to help me out of these clothes to see the rest," Draco says, opening his eyes to look up at her. "Robe and shirt, at least. Ribs are mending, but there's still bruising." He manages another faint, pained smile, and adds, "Ordinarily I'd make some kind of crack about having you undress me, but I think I'll let it slide, just this once."

Hermione doesn't comment, she remembers Draco as always being a baby over it when he got hurt that he /isn't/ whining is a relief, but also a bit unsettling given he was hurt a good deal more than by Buckbeak or getting punched by her in school... granted its been a long time and he's an Auror now. Her hands remove his robes first taking her time with it to make sure he isn't jostled in the process, then doing the same with his shirt. She sucks in a breath at the marks already coloring into vibrantly hued bruises, swollen despite the potion at work mending the bones. "And I could at this point mention that there are better ways to go about it if you want me undressing you, but I think those could use a bit of help on the outside as well."

Much of the displays back in school were for the attention, and were entirely a sham, as Draco is no stranger to pain. He glances down at himself once she's unbuttoned his shirt, and swears under his breath.

Hermione just pulls out the spray again and uses it on the worst of the swollen places before replacing it back in the kit and picking up the jar of bruise balm. Only now does she sit down beside him to apply it, fingers gliding lightly over the injuries careful not to press too hard even as she works the balm into the skin. "I've a second of the pain potion that you can have in a couple hours though ideally you should try and eat something before taking it. If you're stacking them they work better that way."

Hissing a little at the chill of the spray, Draco closes his eyes and leans back against the sofa as she treats his injuries. When she mentions a second pain potion, he gives a shake of his head. "I'll be fine. It's not that bad." Judging by the pattern of the bruises, he had at least four cracked ribs... which might make some wonder as to what he considers 'bad', pain-wise.

"We'll see how you feel about it when that one starts wearing off," Hermione says shrewdly. She knows the potency of that particular potion, that it works quickly and well, but even with the other potion mending those ribs those injuries plus the bump aren't likely to leave him feeling too chipper today. She puts the lid back on the jar of bruise balm and tucks it back in its place before shutting and locking the kit back up, placing it back into her pocket. She hasn't even bothered to take off her coat as yet. She sits looking at him concern still warming her eyes, her expression still serious, "You should rest for a little while. Is there anything else I can do?"

Draco opens his eyes again and looks at her, and there is no humor in his eyes when he says, again, "It's not that bad." He glances down at his hands, frowning. "Check my fingernails. I remember scratching whoever it was, there may be something left of him." He was too out of it to notice the cleansing spell that his attacker cast before departing.

Hermione picks up one of his hands in hers and turns it carefully to study his nails and fingers, then the other, and shakes her head, "Doesn't look likely... they look far too clean for you to have scratched anyone unless... of course. They must have cleaned your hands. Do you want me to check your robe pockets and see if they missed anything?"

"Nnngh. Hairs were in the lower pocket, left inner side. See if there are any left." He's betting there won't be, guessing his attacker meant to take the hairs so he wouldn't be able to track Dewitt. Draco sighs, turning his hand to twine his fingers through hers. "Stay with me?"

Hermione checks the pocket carefully but it has been picked quite clean and she sighs, "No hair that I can see... but were you wearing your sweater when you pulled it? We can check the sleeves later if you were... though we'll have to be sure it isn't your hair or mine or Crookshanks for that matter," she comments. "Of course I'll stay if you want me to." Her fingers squeeze his lightly, she's still very much conscious of how banged up he is.

"I was, yes." Draco sighs, shaking his head. "Simple enough to determine whose hair it is, but it can wait." He gives himself a shake and then sits up a bit. "Help me up, would you? If I'm going to rest up, I'll do it properly, upstairs." He'll seem less like an invalid that way, in his bed instead of the sofa in his study.

Hermione nods and sliding an arm carefully around him again says, "Stand with me then... one... two... three." On three, of course, she helps him up as she herself stands. Briefly she wonders if she ought to mirror Ginny and cancel for brunch so that she can, perhaps, get Ron and Luna to watch the boys. For now she decides to wait.

On three, Draco pushes himself up with her help, groaning as he does so. "When I get my hands on the bastard who did this," he snarls, under his breath. He spends a few moments getting his wind back before starting slowly toward the foyer, where the stairs are.

Hermione just waits until he is ready before moving with him. She is just so matter of fact about helping him that it doesn't even come across really as hovering. It is as automatic as breathing. "I'm sure when he's not lurking in alleys taking aurors by surprise he's quite a clumsy bastard," she says conversationally, "so if he trips into your fist a few times, why... he should be more careful."

That gets a short laugh from Draco, and then he groans again, because laughing /hurts/. "I'll be sure to hit him once for you, shall I?" Then they reach the stairs, and he's too focused on making it up them to do much talking, leaning against the banister at the top and gesturing toward one of the doors. "That one."

"Oh at least once, more if it's the same bastard as put that potion in that closet. The rate I'm going on saying things I don't mean to I won't dare go in to work lest I tell the children something really inopportune," Hermione says with a shake of her head and a small laugh. It isn't /really/ funny because it could happen. She waits until he's ready and then continues over towards the door he indicates opening it.

"Oh, it's exactly the sort of nastiness Dewitt would pull," Draco growls, nodding. He moves toward the indicated door, which opens into the house's master bedroom. It's not what one would expect of the 'Slytherin Sex God', being rather sensibly furnished, including a desk along one wall and a row of bookshelves.

"I wouldn't mind arranging for him to be very clumsy indeed," she admits. Hermione's eyes are automatically drawn to the bookshelves contents, books are a longtime weakness of hers, resisting a look at someone's bookshelves is rather futile. That the shelves are Draco's only makes them that much more interesting to her. However with a sensitivity that might or might not surprise him she pulls her gaze away to glance toward him in an inquiring sort of way as though asking if he minds if she looks.

"Go ahead," Draco says, with a nod, making his way to the bed and settling gingerly on it. The pain potion must be wearing off, by now, but he makes no request for a second potion, stoically bearing it. His personal collection deals primarily with those subjects he's most interested in... needless to say, there are several books that not even the Hogwarts restricted section has. Though one entire shelf is given over to the collected works of Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione smiles at him even as she moves closer to have a look at the titles. The shelf of Parkinson novels gets a smirk, largely because even though they don't have the well-read look that some of the other books on other shelves do they all have cracked bindings that show he has read them once at least. "Mr. Peppersmith would approve that you've read them," she comments as she walks back over toward him, "though goodness knows what /else/ he would make of it." She smirks.

Draco snorts. "They're all autographed, too. I keep them up here because I prefer that any casual visitors remain unaware that I have them." He crooks a finger at her in a come-hither gesture. "You, however, are more than just a casual visitor. Come here." It's almost convincing, except for the fading traces of bruising on his sides and chest.

"Not a casual visitor, hmm? I suppose that means you'd like me to take off my coat and stay awhile?" Hermione says with a little laugh. She pauses by the desk chair and just hangs her coat on the back of it when she removes it before walking the rest of the way over and perching on the edge of the bed next to him, "You, however, need to rest," she says, and her hand lifts to gently stroke his hair back from his face. It is a tender gesture, spontaneously made. "I'm glad you called me and I'm glad you're all right," she adds softly.

"I would like for you to stay, yes." Draco tilts his head back to look up at her better. "I will rest. But I'll rest better if you stay with me." He shifts slightly, reaching for her hand. "I'm glad I called you, too."

Hermione gives him her hand with a little smile, "I'll stay," she promises again. She hadn't been planning on just leaving him, she just hadn't gotten around to taking her coat off before so the muggle saying for making yourself comfortable seemed rather apt.

Draco twines his fingers with hers and gives her hand a little tug. "At some point, we really should talk," he says quietly, wincing as he shifts again. "About this morning." The discussion will have to wait, though, as the adrenaline rush is finally wearing off, leaving him completely exhausted.

"Try and lie still and let those ribs mend," Hermione says, bossiness coming out in her tone solely from concern. She's resistant to the tug (not that he probably couldn't out-muscle her if he /really/ wanted to) adding, "Unless you've an under the bed monster on that side I can go around you know and then you can have my hand back. For now I think you need rest more than talk."

He snorts at this, then winces again. "No monsters under the bed, I've never liked creatures." Draco doesn't even keep an owl for post, but then she might remember that he never had much luck with anything animal-related back in school.

Hermione gives his hand a squeeze before releasing it and making her way around the bed. "Well it would have been something to do with your old book from the class," she says teasingly as she climbs up, kicking her shoes off onto the floor before sliding over. "Creatures have their moments. Some of them are quite fascinating." She'd never tell Hagrid, of course, but it wasn't anywhere near her favorite class. Hagrid is a dear but really... blast ended skrewts.... honestly.

Sliding his arm beneath her, Draco pulls her closer. "Much better. I still have all those old books, by the way. They're in the library downstairs." In addition to the bookshelves in bedroom and study, he has an actual library, as well. "As well as a number of volumes from the family collection, though most of it remains at the Manor."

"I kept mine too," Hermione replies, hoping (but not expecting) that he has sense enough not to hurt himself with how he's pulling her over, but cooperating with it. She's more careful about touching him, though an arm works around his shoulders. She avoids touching his ribs altogether. "I've thought about doing some rearranging with my flat so I can just make a room into a library, but I'd still end up with bookshelves in almost every room so I've rather conceded it as a lost cause by now." The only room without bookshelves somewhere is the bathroom. Even the kitchen has a small shelf with cookery and cleaning books, though it isn't a /large/ shelf.

"You don't really have the space for a library, anyway," Draco murmurs, settling somewhat once she's closer. "You're welcome to have a look through mine, if you like. Though I seem to have ended up with shelves in every room, too." There's a small shelf even in the bathroom, though it's not full of books the way all of the others are.

"No, not really with having made a room into a lab, but it made more sense. A guest bedroom would have been a silly waste of space," Hermione says and then smiles at the offer. "And I'd like that. I got to read a bit more in the potion book you lent me earlier but not very much because Ginny dropped by," and because she was preoccupied with thinking about the book's owner of course.

"Potions books. There are some in here, some in the lab, and some in the library." Draco's arm tightens, just a bit, around her, then lets go somewhat as he relaxes a little more. "I inherited Snape's collection, turned out to be the only real possessions he had, the last few years."

"So that's where they went to. That's good then," Hermione comments, "I'm sure they are quite good. He was bloody brilliant at potions." She may not have /liked/ the man, but she respected his skill. It is just as well that she was very self-motivated, much of her rapid progression with the subject was a result of that rather than her teacher's skill after all. Certainly he didn't encourage /her/ in the class.

"Yes, he was." Draco sighs, shaking his head. "I really miss him, sometimes. He may have been a right arsehole, but he saved me from making one of the biggest mistakes of my life." By which he's referring to his 'mission' from sixth year.

"Yes, he did," Hermione agrees simply, eyes gone solemn and holding an old sadness. There are so many that she wishes she'd had a chance to know better that died in the war, only catching the merest glimmer of them before their light was snuffed out. The hand at the back of his neck absently strokes his hair. There was so much that they couldn't understand while it was all going on. They were too close to it all. After though... the losses are still felt greatly.

Draco yawns, a jaw-popping yawn indicative of just how much the last couple of days have taken out of him. "I thought you said those potions wouldn't make me drowsy," he murmurs, drowsily, his eyelids drooping. It's not accusatory, though, he's far too tired to make it remotely serious.

Hermione just strokes his hair and murmurs, "You didn't get to sleep in this morning. I expect it's mostly all the running about and such catching up with you more than the potions. The rest will do you good." She's glad he's going to rest, it will aid the potions in helping him mend if he rests.

"Could be," Draco agrees. He yawns again, then his eyes close, his hand still resting on her side. Within minutes his breathing evens out and deepens, sleep claiming him swiftly. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, after all.

While Draco sleeps Hermione finds herself watching him. It makes her a little drowsy laying here with him but she isn't drowsy enough to doze off. Her fingers continue to stroke through his hair gently as she lets her thoughts wander. Naturally enough Draco is in them as she tries to make sense of the last few days. The oddest thing, she concludes, is perhaps given her former loathing for Draco Malfoy is that it seems to be gone. It is, she reflects, a combination of the way people change as they grow older and perhaps even more so that she never /really/ was able to know him then.

Half an hour or so passes before Draco's breathing changes, his eyes moving beneath his closed eyelids, indicating that he's dreaming. He shifts in his sleep, uneasily, and makes a low sound of distress.

"Shhhh, you're safe," Hermione murmurs softly, continuing stroking his hair without tightening her arm around him lest it trigger something within the dream. She's no stranger to nightmares. She continues to murmur soothing nonsense hoping that it will help.

The nightmare has Draco firmly in its grasp, however, and he doesn't appear to even hear her soothing words. His jaw tightens, his body shifting again, his free hand twitching at his side before coming up to rest on his chest, making a warding gesture. "No." It's almost a whimper, small and broken and utterly unlike him.

"Draco, it isn't real. You're dreaming." Hermione's voice is louder now as she tries to reach him. "You're safe, it isn't real. Come back from the dream, Draco." Her eyes regard him with sympathetic concern and she shifts her hand from stroking his hair to gently rub his back. "You're safe, it is just a nightmare, nothing can harm you here."

Draco bolts upright, biting back a scream, silver eyes wide and wild at first, his breathing short and shallow. Fortunately what little rest he got was enough for the potion to finish most of its work, so his ribs only twinge him a little, and he hisses, rubbing his side. "Shite."

Hermione immediately releases him when he bolts upright, not wanting to make it worse. Her brown eyes are warm with concern and she gives him a few moments to realize he's awake and all right before asking softly, "Better now?"

"Hermione." Draco's eyes widen, and then everything else clicks, and he reaches for her, pulling her close. "No. Never better. Bearable." It's the best he can really hope for, with regard to some of his past.

Hermione slips her arms back around him and gives him a careful hug, mindful of his still recovering ribs. "Awake is usually better... but it never fixes them," she comments idly. "I hope I didn't make it worse trying to talk you out of it?"

"No." Draco focuses on slowing his breathing, and having her close helps, soothing in a way he can't really define. "Thank you. For staying."

"I said I would," Hermione says simply, one hand running up and down his back. It is meant to be soothing. "You got a little good sleep anyway, before the dream. How do your ribs feel?" Her eyes remain on his.

"The ribs feel better." Draco lies back among the pillows, drawing her with him. "Not better enough to go back into the office, just yet, but better." He leans toward her to brush his lips across hers. "We should talk."


	6. Chapter 06

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

* * * * *

_"The ribs feel better." Draco lies back among the pillows, drawing her with him. "Not better enough to go back into the office, just yet, but better." He leans toward her to brush his lips across hers. "We should talk."_

Hermione lies back with him, not letting go. "All right," she says softly when he says they should talk. He's right, of course. Why is it, she wonders, that the words 'we should talk' always seem ominous? They shouldn't. There isn't anything in his demeanor that should make them seem that way. Perhaps it is because she isn't used to talking with Draco... they've always done more sparring than talking.

He brings a hand up to brush his fingers across her cheek. "I hadn't expected what happened, this morning. I didn't plan it." Draco looks at her seriously, his silver eyes intense. "It's important that you understand that, that it wasn't a game." Given their history, he feels the need to explain that much, at least.

"No, this morning was very unexpected for both of us," Hermione agrees. There wasn't anything calculated in it, she recognizes that. "I'm sure there are all sorts of explanations that would be perfectly valid if I wanted to over-logic the whole thing, but I find that I don't. This morning was beautiful, I don't think it could have been that way if it had been a game..." And that is one thing Draco never sunk to in school, thankfully.

Draco's fingers move from her cheek into her hair, and his lips curl in a faint smile. "I'm not sure logic has anything to do with it. But I don't want this morning to be the end of it, Hermione."

"Not much, but if I were trying to make excuses to myself it might. I'd rather not - this morning doesn't need to be excused. Far from it," Hermione says, her lips curving in an answering smile. "I don't know where this is going, Draco, but I don't want this morning to be the end of it either."

"No excuses, no regrets." Draco kisses her lightly again, his fingers brushing through her hair. "I want this, Hermione, whatever it is. I want you." The glimmer in his eyes gives that statement a hint of innuendo, but there's a sense, too, that it goes deeper than just the physical attraction.

Hermione's eyes sparkle a little at that glimmer and she brushes her lips against his, "No excuses or regrets. I want this, whatever it is, and you, Draco." For all that she's echoing his words they come out perfectly serious. All this makes her a little bit nervous, but she never let that stop her before from doing something worth doing or attempting something difficult. This seems both, perhaps in time it won't seem as though it should be complicated. Last week after all she'd never have believed any of this likely, much less possible or desirable.

Draco pulls her closer, tilting his head back to deepen the kiss, a low rumble sounding in his chest. "I might need a little help this time, though." His hand slides out of her hair, down her back, caressing her hip, his lips curved in a faint smirk.

Hermione runs her hands gently up along his sides, "Mmm, yes, you're still mending. The swelling has gone down though, that's a very good sign," she says, and then, she kisses the smirk away.

"Maybe you should kiss it better, hm?" Draco mmms into the kiss, his hips shifting toward her, fingers curling in the waistband of her jeans. "Make sure everything's mending the way it should be?" he rumbles, against her lips.

"Well your shirt IS conveniently off already... though I suppose I could start here if I'm going to check my work..." Hermione leans up just a little to kiss the spot where the bump on his head was, her lips trailing down from there to linger at each spot she tended.

When she leans upward, Draco takes advantage of the slight space between them to slide his hands up beneath her sweater. He lets his breath out in a faint hiss that turns quickly into a whisper of her name, his fingers stroking her skin.

Pressing a kiss to the place where his neck meets his shoulder Hermione murmurs, "Distractions, hmm? I suppose if I lose my place I'll just have to find another." Yeah... it isn't just his bumps and bruises she's kissing, though each of those spots does receive its share of tender attention.

"Consider it a test," Draco rumbles in reply, his hands sliding up her back to locate and undo the clasp of her bra. "As I recall, you've always done exceptionally well at tests." His hands make their way back around to the front of her torso, following the loosened fabric of the bra.

Her head dips and her tongue flicks against his nipple, "It was always a matter of concentrating... and of course, studying for hours..." Hermione murmurs, and it comes out in a suggestive little half-purr. The other receives the same attention before her lips resume their progress over to "check on" how well his ribs have been healing.

Draco makes a sound that's part moan and part growl, his back arching at her attentions to his chest. His hands cup her breasts, his thumbs passing across her nipples as his hips shift restlessly beneath her. "Focus... concentration... determination... you'd have made... one hell of a... Slytherin."

She moans softly against his ribs as his thumbs brush the sensitive nubs. "Green looks better... on you," Hermione declares. A muggleborn in Slytherin? If she spent time thinking about it she'd come to the conclusion that such a one would probably have been a near outcast in their own house, at least while they were in school. However, she's more than a little occupied with some of that focus and concentration he spoke of which is on /him/. She does add, though, between soft, feather-light kisses, "The occasionally foolhardy rushing in and feats of heroics are rather Gryffindor-like traits you know... perhaps we're rubbing off on each other." Except that, of course, before he rescued her they weren't spending /that/ much time together.

Rrrrrrr. "I'm thinking we should test that theory," Draco growls, fingers and thumbs teasing the sensitive flesh. "I can rub off a whole lot more." His hips lift suggestively, silver eyes gleaming wickedly.

Hermione moans again, "...you feel really good when you rub off..." she murmurs absently before circling his navel with her tongue, then kissing her way back up his chest. "I think perhaps we're both a little over-dressed for testing that theory thoroughly, don't you?" she half-purrs.

Draco lets out a low groan at the feel of her tongue in his navel, and his hips lift again. "Brilliant /and/ beautiful," he growls, tugging her sweater upwards. "I've a few thoughts as to how we might resolve the clothing issue."

Hermione slips her arms free of her sleeves and helps him remove it the rest of the way and giving it a little toss over to the floor. "Mmm... half the problem resolved... but ideas are always interesting..." Hermione murmurs.

Making sure the bra goes with the sweater, Draco purrs, running his hands down her chest unfettered by any obstacles. "Work with me," he rumbles, reaching for the snap of her jeans, then the zipper, fumbling just a little in his haste to get her out of them.

Hermione lifts her bottom and gives a little shimmy of her hips, working with him as requested. "Teamwork, hmm? It definitely has its charms, doesn't it?" she teases, just a little.

"Tease," Draco growls, pulling her jeans and knickers down together, shifting to yank them all the way off so he can toss them to the floor. His own trousers and boxers follow shortly afterward, and one hand threads into her hair so he can pull her up for a kiss as the other makes its way between her legs.

"There's teasing and there's /teasing/." Clearly the second sort isn't the sort she's doing as Hermione's lips settle against his, the fingers of one hand twining in his hair while the other runs over his chest. The soft moan that his touch prompts is swallowed in the kiss as her lips part against his.

"You mean like this?" Draco murmurs, smirking against her mouth as his fingers tease her gently. He rolls back a bit, onto his back, his other hand moving from her hair to rest at her hip.

That prompts a needy little whimper from Hermione, "Just remember," she murmurs, the hand on his chest trailing down, "two can play at that game." Her eyes glimmer a little more with promise than threat. Of course teasing isn't entirely teasing when there is follow through is it? And she knows quite well from the morning that Draco has /amazing/ follow through.

"Wounded, remember?" Draco pulls back just enough to grin wickedly at her, his leg brushing against hers. "Besides, I did all that work this morning." His fingers stroke again, between her legs, and his other hand caresses her hip, suggestively.

That stroke makes her whimper again, but Hermione's hand trails down over Draco's flat stomach and wraps around him doing a bit of caressing of her own. In a naughty bit of wit she murmurs in that little half-purr, "I believe I found another bit of you that's swollen."

Draco moans outright, his hips bucking automatically toward her hand, his breath hitching. "Are you going to... kiss that better... too?" he drawls back at her, his leg brushing against hers again.

"Well... the other bits of you that were swollen got some tending... I suppose it wouldn't do to neglect it," Hermione murmurs, mock-seriously even as her fingers wrap around him. Her lips twitch a little, "Though I'm not sure how much 'better' that will make that particular swelling problem."

"Mmm. Perhaps some... other... attention might be necessary." Draco's hips lift toward her, and he licks his lips, watching her intently. His fingers stroke her hip, his knee bumping against hers.

Hermione works her way slowly down his body murmuring, "Mmm, perhaps... I suppose that's another theory we'll have to check into." Her lips brush a kiss on him as tender as those she placed on his actual injuries. "Hmm... no, that doesn't seem to have done a single thing for the swelling." she half-purrs, "I suppose I'll just have to try something else..." That something else seems to be a more thorough exploration with her mouth... which doesn't seem to be reducing the swelling /at all/. Imagine that.

The swelling isn't helped at all, no, and Draco's hips buck upwards as he emits a low, primal growl. Both hands come up to curl in her hair, his eyes closing as his head tilts back, his breathing rough and erratic.

Fabulous powers of recovery or not on Draco's part, Hermione finds herself getting even more turned on by pleasuring him and stops just short of pushing him over the edge, shifting to look up at him. Ron wasn't particularly creative in bed (or particularly /good/ she realizes now). "How can we do this so it won't hurt you?" comes the throaty murmur of a question.

It takes Draco several moments to recover speech, and he lets go of her hair, running his hands over her shoulders. "With you on top, of course." He shifts his hips, his eyes molten silver with desire.

Hermione shifts, hmming thoughtfully as she actually has to think briefly on how that would work before coming to the conclusion that sitting up he won't have pressure on his ribs at all. Shifting again she straddles him, "Like this?" It isn't even meant to be teasing.

Draco groans, nodding, and he moves a hand to assist. "Just like this." His hips shift, adjusting the angle, and he watches her expression. "You feel so good."

Her mouth forms a soft, soundless oh as he adjusts the angle which turns to a little moan as she slowly sinks onto him, taking all of him into her. "I could say the same." Hermione doesn't move immediately, just having him filling her feels good, but after a moment she begins to experiment with sliding herself up and down his length until she finds the rhythm of the new position. She couldn't stop the pleasured sounds she's making even if she wanted to. She holds onto his hips to keep herself from accidentally landing them on his still mending ribs.

The experimentation is enough to drive him over the edge, but Draco holds himself back, his hands settling at her hips to help her find a rhythm. His own hips buck upward in response, and he's unable to muffle his own sounds of pleasure, his eyes locked onto hers.

Doing the work this time carries its own rewards and this sort of hard work is quite, quite pleasurable. Hermione's gaze is caught by Draco's even as she continues to move against him allowing the pleasure to build, drawing closer, ever closer to the shattering release she knows is waiting.

Fingers digging into her hips, Draco's eyes flare as he thrusts himself upwards, pulling her down at the same time to drive himself deeper, letting out an almost feral growl as he does so. He's still holding back, but just barely, wanting to bring her over the edge with him.

And in that moment Hermione gasps his name so deeply joined with him that she no longer knows where she leaves off and he begins as worlds blend and stars explode. Every time with him is new, every time with him simply amazing.

Draco's back arches, his ribs giving a slight twinge that he doesn't even feel, his focus shattering completely as he lets himself go. His hands rove up her back, tugging her forward, heedless of his mostly-healed injuries.

Hermione settles against his chest as he draws her forward, still crying out her pleasure as her lips lower to find his even as her body continues to move with him. As things slow she finds herself sprawled over and around him like a very intimately wrapped blanket. Reluctance to move from him wars with concern for his recent injuries as sense comes back to her and she asks, "Am I too heavy lying like this?"

Moving with her, slowing finally to a halt, Draco wraps his arms around her to hold her to him as his breathing slows. At her question, his lips curve in a smile, and he runs one hand down her back, shaking his head just a little. "No. Not heavy at all."

She kisses the corner of that smile, so much nicer than a smirk though even his smirks are suspiciously endearing lately - perhaps because of the lack of malice in them. "Good." Hermione says, gently brushing his hair back, "Mmm, the swelling has gone down on that quite nicely." Her eyes twinkle a little naughtily as she adds, "Other places too, though perhaps a bit less."

That turns his smile into a rather wicked grin, and Draco runs his hands down her sides. "A bit, yes. Perhaps we'll work on some of those other places again later, hm?" He leans up to kiss her, briefly, his leg moving against hers.

Hermione can't help but smile at that, "Perhaps. It seems it may be a reoccurring," she pauses because she can't help but smirk herself over the next word, "problem." Given that he makes her just as insatiable as he seems to be it has hardly been a problem.

Draco laughs outright at that, sliding his hands between them to caress her breasts. "In that case, I'm just going to have to keep you close in order to help treat the, ah, problem." He can't help smirking over the word, given it certainly hasn't /been/ much of a problem.

Hermione pats the side of his hip with one hand, "So it would seem..." her lips twitch, "it only gets bigger after all." It is rather bizarre, she thinks, how fun it is to banter and exchange innuendo with Draco Malfoy. She didn't realize any of this could be this good, much less playful.

"Indeed," Draco agrees, slowly rounding his hips upward. "And it seems the treatment is only temporary, in this instance." It's a testament to his stamina that he's nearly ready to go again, even while still recovering from the beating he took earlier.

Hermione gives a little whimper at that movement, still sensitized as she is from their most recent bout of lovemaking. Was it really only this morning that they first came together? The man is proving terribly addictive to her, in their current analogy. She gives him a little grin, "I don't think you'd want the cure to be permanent, now would you? After all... the ailment..." amusement again, "isn't /all/ suffering and pain." A permanent cure for /that/ problem? Who on earth would find that a good prospect?

"Mmm, good point." Draco rounds his hips again, slowly, a taunting movement. "Certainly not suffering and pain." Some part of him is awed by how much she's come to mean to him, so quickly, but he sets it aside for later consideration. Belaboring the issue won't help him figure it out any quicker, and he'd prefer to retain his focus for the activities at hand.

Hermione moans softly, her hips moving in a natural response to his. "I do wonder though sometimes just who is treating who here... but I guess we can take it in turns." The words come out breathy and low before her lips settle on his again. It isn't just sex, though she finds herself craving him like a kid let into Honeydukes for the first time craves sweets, nibbling and sampling him as though he were some delectable treat. She did say he tasted good – not that she'd necessarily call him sweet.

"I've no problem with taking it in turns," Draco growls against her mouth, rolling his hips again. His hands move along her back, fingers playing along her spine, and then settle at her hips, pulling her down as he thrusts upward sharply. It's not just sex for him, either, which is partly why he's got such fast recovery.

Her response is immediate, free and uninhibited as she cries out his name holding him tighter. "Like to play healer too, do you?" Hermione murmurs in between kisses. The words are breathy and don't come out all at once. Even banter can be difficult to keep up with when you are in the midst of /feeling/, certainly there is no room for thinking about anything more complex.

"I'm a man of many talents," Draco pants in reply, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm. His hands guide her hips to follow, deliberately keeping it slow and drawing out the pleasure, letting it build. It requires most of his concentration, however, so he leaves off the banter in order to focus more fully on her.

Many talents and hidden depths Hermione could say... but doesn't - no words are falling off her lips, only sounds of her pleasure. Her hips rock against him and using her hands against the bed to help her she shifts upright again, the timing of the motion making her moan as it drives him even deeper within her. It is as though they were made for each other.

The shift draws a low groan from Draco, and he increases the pace just a little in response, his fingers tightening on her hips. "Hermione," he breathes, quicksilver eyes dark with lust and something else, something deeper that he's still reluctant to name.

Hermione looks down at him, eyes dark with desire, lips parted a little and her hair a little wild from his hands being in it earlier. "Draco," his name is echoed on a soft moan as she runs her fingers lightly over his flat stomach before settling her hands at his waist. Soon enough they will have other concerns to worry about but for the moment he is all hers and she his.

His name on her lips has him increasing his pace even more, and he exhales her name again before speech deserts him altogether, the pleasure building to its inevitable conclusion. She is his, and he is hers, and for the moment nothing else matters.

Hands cling tightly to his waist even as her head falls back a little at the thrust that brings her to that same conclusion. She cries out his name again, eyes half-shut but gazing down at him all the same. She lets go of his waist so that she can use her hands again to keep from just collapsing against his chest, slowly settling back against him, heart still beating wildly and her breath warm against his neck as the soft kiss she presses there.

Draco keeps moving, beneath her, carrying them both over the edge and slowly bringing them back down. His heart is beating just as wildly, and his hands are warm against her skin as they move up her back, his arms folding to hold her close. "I have to say," he murmurs, after a moment, "I definitely approve of this healing technique of yours."

His words prompt a low chuckle from Hermione and her lips twitch into a smile. She tilts her head a little to look at him from where her head rests on his shoulder, "Yes, well, my patient certainly seems to be doing a lot better that's certain... and it has additional benefits, I know I feel better." She doesn't know how she could possibly feel any better than she does, but she doesn't say it - mainly because the phrase about practice making perfect comes to mind... every time they've come together it just gets better and it was by far the best experience she'd had even the first time.

"I am most definitely feeling better," Draco agrees, tilting his head and kissing her shoulder. Before he can say anything else, though, his stomach rumbles noisily. "As much as I don't want to move, I think food is in order." Especially since he hasn't really eaten today, aside from a quick bite before tracking the thugs to the countryside.

Hermione's eyes twinkle, "Healing can be hungry work," she says, keeping a straight face aside from that as she reaches up to gently brush his hair out of his face. "I suppose that means I'm going to have to move as well," she adds, though she doesn't actually do so, she's as little inclined to budge as he is being rather comfortable right where she is.

"You"re going to have to move, yes." Draco catches her hand and brings it down so that he can kiss her fingertips. then he turns his head and captures her lips, kissing her fleetingly before slowly sliding away from her. "Come on, let's see what we can manage for dinner." Though he pauses long enough to pull on a pair of pajama pants, snagged from the nearby wardrobe.

Hermione chuckles and stretches before she gets up and picks up her sweater without her bra, not having spotted it, slipping the sweater over her head. It comes down to mid-thigh, riding up as she bends down to retrieve her knickers and jeans. "I mostly just open a tin of something," she admits. That or she orders take-away.

Draco cannot pass up the opportunity to run his hands over her backside while she's bent over, sliding them up under her sweater as she straightens. "Hermione Granger, know-it-all extraordinaire, doesn't know how to cook?" he teases, smirking.

She gives him an exasperated look, "I don't like cooking... and I don't care what Ginny says it isn't the least like potions." She's /good/ at potions after all. Alas the same cannot be said for cooking though she firmly attests that she is not as hopeless at it as her friends always make out. Ruin boiling water indeed. Hmpf.

Moving his hands farther up under her sweater, Draco tilts his head and kisses her neck. "It's all about focus and intent. Perhaps you just need the right teacher."

"You cook?" Hermione asks, quirking an eyebrow as her head tilts back... to look up at him, really. It is probably pretty funny to him, she was always frighteningly competent with academics but she didn't have time for something so frivolous as a cooking class back in school. The only thing she didn't do well with that was a class at Hogwarts was flying. She still doesn't care for it much.

"I most certainly do," Draco replies, looking back down at her with an almost smug expression. "Initially, it was in the interest of being self-sufficient, but the perfectionist in me wasn't happy with just learning the basics."

"Interesting," Hermione replies, "don't tell me you do the cleaning as well... the world might end." She wouldn't have been surprised if he had a house elf or at least servants to do for him, that he cooks is a surprise. Of course she's already come to realize that there is far, far more to this Draco Malfoy than the smirk and snark she once knew... which was only one layer even then. With a small chuckle she steps back from him to finish dressing, though she doesn't bother with shoes.

"I have a service that comes in twice a week to handle dust and such, but I do my own dishes," Draco informs her. He trails his fingers across her hip and then heads out of the room and down the stairs. "What are you in the mood for?" he calls back.

Tugging her sweater back down over her jeans Hermione follows after him. "Something with chicken maybe?" Chicken is always good... and there are about a billion different things that can be done with it. Not that it is usually found in the pub-fare style takeaways she frequents when she isn't just having a tin of soup or munching on veggies and dip or a salad. You'd think Hermione was dieting with how she eats at home but that totally isn't the case.

Upon entering the kitchen, Draco opens the icebox and peruses the contents. Odd as it may seem to see him in the kitchen (in just his pajama bottoms, no less), he looks at home in the space, very much the master of his domain.

"If there's something else that sounds better that's fine really. I'm not that fussy." Did Hermione Granger just say she isn't fussy? How is that possible? But then the item under discussion is food. Now if it were potion ingredients she might be a lot more finicky. She follows him into the kitchen and finds herself a bit of out of the way counter space to lean against... and yes, enjoying the view.

Glancing over his shoulder, Draco smirks at her. "I have chicken. How about you pick a bottle of wine to go with dinner?" He gestures toward a door behind her. "Wine cellar's through there."

Hermione straightens and merely returns his smirk with an amused look. "I can do that I suppose," she says, turning to open the door in question. She rather doubts it possible to make a bad choice out of his wine cellar after all. After some perusal of the racks she locates a bottle that frosts a little as she picks it up and quirks a brow. "Ice wine?" The question is murmured to herself. However it doesn't appear to be a red wine, which was her main criteria at the moment.

Meanwhile, Draco has assembled things from the ice box and the pantry, and begins the process of turning the raw ingredients into something edible. There's a certain confidence and ease to his movements that suggests he's comfortable in the kitchen. More than that, it shows how comfortable he is with /her/, to let her see him with his guard so relaxed.

Hermione emerges from the wine cellar, bottle in hand, and shuts the door behind her. She quirks a smile at his preparations, even relaxed there's a certain intensity and focus about him that makes it enjoyable to watch. "Ice wine sound good?" she asks, setting the bottle down on the countertop. "It appears to be self-chilling."

A frying pan is already set on the stove over low heat, and Draco glances up briefly from his chopping to smile at her. "It is, yes. An excellent choice. It should go well with the stir-fry."

"Would you like some help with that?" Hermione asks, indicating the chopping. That tends to be her task when she ends up at Ginny's or the Burrow. Though both Ginny and Molly have been known to complain that she is too fussy on cutting everything precisely. Potions influence no doubt.

"I've got it, thanks. But if you'd like to lend a hand, you can get the container of rice from the pantry? I've got water started already." In Draco's hands, the vegetables are being sliced and diced into precisely even pieces. Without it looking as though it requires much effort, even.

"Certainly," she replies as she crosses the kitchen to where she presumes the pantry is located given that the door by her was to the wine cellar. Opening the door in question she smiles triumphantly even as she peruses the shelves in search of - oh yes there it is - rice. She has to stand up on her tip-toes to reach it, but it isn't difficult to get down if it were she'd have used her wand. Then she shuts the pantry door and carries the container back with her.

"There's a measuring cup and a bowl over there," Draco says, nodding toward the items on a countertop nearby. "Two cups should be enough, but wait to add it until the water's boiling." He finishes chopping, assembles the ingredients, and starts adding things to the frying pan.

Hermione's eyes twinkle a little as she makes her way over to measure out the rice. Beauxbatons students might have to take Hearth and Home classes but it wasn't offered at Hogwarts. She could just imagine how popular the "Domestic Arts" might be with "Professor Malfoy" teaching them. The amusement on her face grows only to turn sheepish as the measuring cup overflows with rice. She laughs at herself and pours the rice back from the bowl into the container to measure it out again.

The very idea of Draco being a professor at Hogwarts is laughable, but fortunately he's not privy to those thoughts, his expression focused and intent as he stirs the chicken and vegetables. Apparently, he's still aware of her in some fashion, though, as he speaks up to suggest, "Scoop, don't pour. It's why the container has that wide mouth on it, and you can level it off once you scoop."

"Force of habit I suppose. I tend to get the boxed kind," Hermione replies. Ah minute rice, something even she can't ruin as Ginny would no doubt say. Heart warming the confidence her friends have in her culinary "skills". She refrains from rolling her eyes at the thought though she does follow his suggestion.

"There's nothing wrong with cooking from a box, it's a step up from just opening a tin of something." Draco's tone is almost sarcastic, but at the last minute he flashes her a smile that softens the edge, suggests that he gets where she's coming from. "That's a short-grain rice you have there, it's what you tend to find in cuisine from the Far East."

"Boxes, jars and tins are my specialty," Hermione smirks as she carries the bowl over to the stove to check and see if the water has come to a boil yet. From the tiny bubbles it is apparently just at a simmer so she leans against the counter to wait. Odd as it is she doesn't really mind admitting to him that there's something she isn't brilliant at, but then she never did say she was brilliant at everything. That was something that a lot of people assumed.

Turning the heat down under the frying pan, Draco moves toward her, reaching to cup her face in his hands. "You are a brilliant, talented witch, Hermione. I think you might enjoy cooking, if properly motivated."

Brown eyes twinkle as Hermione looks at him, "Compliments again? What is this world coming to?" Really it is a little surreal to be in Draco Malfoy's kitchen being complimented... not quite as surreal as earlier but even so. She could almost think she were dreaming the whole thing except, of course, he never factored in her dreams before not in /that/ sense. And of course there's the whole matter that he feels all too real. Her lips tug into a smile, "And just what constitutes proper motivation to enjoy cooking anyway?" she wonders aloud.

Silver eyes flash, and Draco's grin turns a bit wicked. "It's not flattery if it's true. And I've no doubt I could find some way to properly motivate you, given enough time." He leans in just enough to kiss her briefly, his lips brushing hers fleetingly, before drawing back. "Water's boiling."

"So it is," Hermione replies and pours the bowl of rice into the water. Crinkling her nose she asks, "I don't suppose it's like the boxed variety then? How long is it supposed to cook for?" With the boxed variety it is just cover and remove from the heat and wait after all. Idly she thinks to herself that there would probably be a very fine line between motivation and distraction where he's concerned. It puts another amused look on her face.

"Ten minutes," Draco replies, back at the stove and ensuring that dinner doesn't burn. "There's a timer right there, be sure to stir it every other minute so that it doesn't stick to the bottom of the pan." Trust Draco to have rendered something as imprecise as cooking to a more precise activity. "The rice will absorb the water as it cooks, so stirring is especially critical in the last three minutes."

Nodding as she sets the timer she spots a jar with utensils in it and removes a wooden spoon to give the rice a stir. Some people might think the directions overkill but Hermione appreciates the precision of them and follows them to the letter giving the rice a stir every other minute. Without really thinking about it she asks, "So who taught you to cook?"

"Pansy, at first," Draco admits, though the tone of his voice doesn't invite further questioning about her. "Then it turned out I liked it, and I'm good at it, so I've taken lessons, to get better, learn new things. This dish, for instance, I learned from a chef in Japan, a couple of years ago."

"Oh." Hermione's eyes remain fixed on the rice stirring it as though it is the most important thing in the world as she suddenly feels incredibly stupid. Of course it was Pansy. _Many scenes were inspired by Draco Malfoy - particularly in this latest book but also in others_ she recalls the article having quoted the famous Slytherin romance novelist. When the timer dings she turns off the burner without ceasing stirring the rice, it is still fluffing up.

"Move it to the other burner, to cool for a bit, and leave it," Draco instructs, doing the same with his frying pan. "We want the rice to be a little sticky, it goes better with the stir fry." He waits for her to be done, then reaches for her hands. "Ask."

Shifting the pot to the other burner she taps the wooden spoon on the side of it, knocking off the rice that sticks to it before setting it across the top. Hermione's teeth worry her lower lip even as he takes her hands and dark lashes lower protectively against the fragility in her eyes. She doesn't say anything right away. When she does it isn't the more predictable question of 'are you still seeing her?' or an accusation that he lied and it IS all just a game but rather a slow and cautious, her voice curiously flat but not judgmental, "What is she to you?" There are many other questions she could have come up with but in the end that is the one she asks. The faint trembling of her hands in his, however, betray her nervousness about the answer.

"Pansy is... well, she's Pansy." Draco sighs, shaking his head. "We've know each other for years, even before Hogwarts, and there was a time when we thought we'd end up together, get married, etc." His lips twist into a faintly bitter smile, and he shakes his head. "We're still friends, but that's all. Anything else between us died a long time ago. Or was never there to begin with, maybe."

The smile she gives him is an echo of his own with that faint hint of bitterness in it, "Ah. Pansy is your Ron," she says slowly, nodding. Though of course given that quote they had a lot more than she ever had with Ron. Still it was a relationship that probably should never have become a relationship. If there's one thing that she is certain of Hermione is certain that dating Ronald Weasley was one of her bigger mistakes. They do well enough as friends but dating was a whole different matter.

"I'm not sure the analogy fits, honestly." Draco gives her hands a reassuring squeeze. "There's nothing romantic between Pansy and I, but we're still very close. She gets me, in a way that very few people do. It would be very easy for other people to misinterpret that, and they often do."

"Well I meant it more in the sense of that nearly everyone seems to think or expect you belonged together and always would. Thank goodness I never made that mistake with Harry that would have been even more awkward," Hermione says. Not to mention Ginny would have hexed her.

"Given the available pureblooded Slytherin girls, it's no real surprise that people paired me with Pansy," Draco points out, with a little smirk. "It's been convenient, for the most part. She knows she can rely on me for an escort if she doesn't have any other plans, and on the rare occasion I'm required to attend some society function, she's there for me. But we haven't really been together since before the end of the war."

Hermione nods and shrugs a little, not quite sure what to say. What is between them is still so new and she hasn't really figured it out aside from that it feels important. It has made her a little reckless, but completely contradictory to that it also makes her cautious. Not knowing where she stands is awkward. Her lower lip gets abused some more before she looks up at him, "I'm not convenient." It isn't a question.

"No, you're not." Draco lets go of her hands in favor of pulling her into his arms, holding her close. "You're not convenient, nor are you just a novelty. You're special, Hermione." He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against her hair. "I can't promise that it's going to be easy, I'm not an easy man to deal with, but I don't want for you to be uncomfortable, around me. If ever I give you reason to doubt, tell me, so we can talk it out."

Head resting against his chest, Hermione feels some of the tension leave her even as her arms slip around his waist. "Things that are worthwhile seldom are easy," she comments. That is something she knows all too well. "I would have thought that I'd be the last girl you'd ever be interested in." Understandably so given past experience but people change and clearly he's changed more than some.

"It does seem rather surreal, doesn't it?" Had he been asked, Draco certainly wouldn't have picked Hermione as someone he was interested in, some three days ago. "Yet here we are, and it's real, and it's not going away. Which is good, because I don't want it to go away." He pulls back just a bit, brushing a stray curl from her face. "And why not you? You're beautiful, brilliant, talented, compassionate..."

"But not remotely pureblood which always seemed quite important to you," Hermione says quietly. The whole concept of 'pureblood' is rather revolting from a muggle perspective. It is, after all, inbreeding and inbreeding produces a number of genetic faults often enough. It is really a wonder that there aren't more gibbering idiot oafs. Certainly Crabbe and Goyle were examples of why it is a bad idea. Draco seems more an exception than the rule in that particular argument.

"I've found that the pureblood rhetoric has lost its appeal for me," Draco replies, just as quietly. "Possibly due to the aforementioned lack of available witches who fit the ridiculous criteria my father set when I was a boy." His expression hardens, briefly, at the mention of his father.

Her arms tighten around him a little when he says that, though she doesn't see his expression with her head still resting against his chest. "Hmm, lack of available witches? Is that all?" Hermione's words come out slightly teasing. "So it was just that you didn't want to get stuck with a Millicent Bulstrode?"

Draco shudders. "That's revolting." He sighs, shaking his head. "After it was over, my father lost something of himself. And I realized, once I was able to think for myself, that the old pureblood prejudices were never really as relevant as he'd tried to make them seem."

"I'm glad you realized that," Hermione says, her lips quirking in a little smile finally lifting her head so that she can look at him again. Of course Hermione is practically the poster girl for just how off target the assumptions over the "unfitness" of muggleborns to be in magical society was. "They don't stand up so well when examined I expect. Honestly they are quite, quite ghastly from the muggleborn side."

"What do you say we table the political discussion until after dinner?" Draco asks, as his stomach makes a noise to remind him he's supposed to be eating. "If you want to take the wine and glasses to the table, I'll get the plates. Do you know how to use chopsticks?"

Hermione leans up and kisses his cheek, "Of course. I don't particularly feel like discussing genetics all night anyhow. And yes, I know how to use chopsticks," she says, picking up the wine bottle and the glasses carefully. "It was rather hilarious teaching some of my friends."

"I can imagine," Draco drawls, with a faint smirk. "There are chopsticks in that drawer, there, if you want to come back for them." Since her hands are currently full. He's already got plates down and is dishing up the sticky rice, over which he spoons the stir fry, arranging it almost artfully and then drizzling some extra sauce over it. There's a hint of fastidiousness in the way he moves, and in the presentation, that perfectionism he's always tried to achieve.

Noting the drawer in question Hermione nods and takes the wine and glasses into the dining room setting the bottle down and then putting the glasses down one at the place at the head of the table and one at the place next to it. Walking back into the kitchen she makes her way over to the drawer for the chopsticks and asks as she takes out two pair of lovely lacquered chopsticks, "Napkins?"

"Bottom of the china cabinet, in the dining room," Draco replies. "There's a drawer for table linens, since I don't generally use them."

Hermione chuckles, "Right. You don't ever spill do you?" she teases as she takes the chopsticks back with her into the dining room and after placing them gets two napkins from the china cabinet never the less.

"Not everyone can be as perfect as I am, Granger," Draco teases right back, flashing her a smirk before she's out of sight again. He eyes the plates critically before finally giving himself a nod of approval and picking them up, carrying them into the dining room.

"Are you sure that chair will be able to hold you and your ego too?" Hermione asks giving him a grin as she pulls out her chair and settles into her seat placing her napkin on her lap. "Oh I didn't think to ask, should we have opened the wine already?" Some wines are better if they "breathe" first.

"I made sure all the furniture was capable of withstanding the extra weight of my ego," Draco replies, winking at her as he sets the plates down. "With a self-chilling wine such as this one, you don't want to open it early. The charms are set on a timer, and start to wear off slowly as soon as the bottle is opened."

"Oh good, I wouldn't want your chair to break after all," Hermione replies, eyes twinkling. At the explanation about the wine she nods. "That makes sense." Looking down at the stir fry she smiles and adds, "This looks good." Of course it smelled good when it was cooking too.

Opening the bottle of wine, Draco pours her a glass before pouring for himself, and he smiles at her. "Well, it should. You helped make it, after all. And don't try to back out of taking credit, either, the rice is a crucial component to this dish, and it's not an easy thing to get just right. Took me weeks."

Hermione quirks an eyebrow at him her expression dubious, "It took you weeks to do rice?" If her tone is doubtful it no doubt has to do with how easy he made it to make the rice, though not having tried it yet she can't tell if she really got it right or not. The timing, the stirring and then just leaving it alone were fairly simple directions to follow.

"Would I lie to you?" Draco asks, with faux innocence. He smirks at himself and shakes his head. "Never mind, don't answer that. You may have noticed that I'm something of a perfectionist, so it follows that I'd want to break down the mechanics of cooking to the precise sort of instructions I was able to give you."

Hermione just smirks back when he tells her not to answer that. She picks up her chopsticks without awkwardness and chuckles, "Perfectionist tendencies? I hadn't noticed," she says innocently. Though she's never been a particularly good liar and the look in her eyes certainly belays the words. She lifts a morsel of chicken expertly to her lips.

"No? Damn, I'll have to try harder," Draco purrs, leering at her, a wicked gleam in his silver eyes. He picks up the chopsticks, wielding them expertly and clicking the ends at her before he picks up a piece of chicken with some of the rice, his expression smug.

Hermione wisely doesn't comment immediately instead picking up her ice wine and taking a long sip from the glass. Has it suddenly gotten hotter in here? Her own chopsticks pick up some rice and vegetables and she continues eating. "I don't know if the world is ready for such perfection," she says in a low, thoughtful voice.

Draco's smug grin widens, his teeth flashing briefly between bites, and he allows the silence to linger for a few moments. Then he says, his voice equally low and thoughtful, "You could be right. Still, it can't possibly hurt to try, and I'm fairly sure you'll enjoy it."

"I guess I'll be getting some practice with that potion formula at this rate," Hermione replies. She shakes her head at him. It is a good thing that Harry just got home, Ginny is too observant but her husband does distract her... somewhat anyway. She really doesn't want to discuss this with Harry just yet.

"I guess it's a good thing that you're proficient with potions, then, isn't it?" Draco flashes her another wicked grin, silver eyes gleaming. "I have it on good authority that the formula holds up when multiplied, and keeps for several months, so in theory one can stock up."

"Oh really?" Hermione's voice comes out a little weak and she gives him a half-heartedly annoyed look (it's hard to be fully annoyed with someone who keeps looking at you like you are dessert). Damn the man for so easily affecting her. She takes another sip of the ice wine before asking, "Going to let me play in your potions lab then?"

Lifting his glass, Draco sips from it and makes a show of considering the question. "Perhaps," he says, finally, using his chopsticks to take another bite, without taking his eyes off of her.

"Only perhaps? Hmpf, and here I let you in mine... Harry and Ron aren't even allowed in there," Hermione replies. Of course Harry and Ron would not want to go in her potions lab, haven't the skill to be allowed if they did, and would leave things all a mess - three excellent reasons for keeping them out of it. She has another bite, though her gaze can't quite leave him when his eyes are watching her like that.

"Well, you were hardly in any condition to stop me," Draco drawls, reaching over to touch the back of her hand with his fingertips. "However, if you're a good girl and eat all of your dinner, I might allow you through the wards on my lab." His voice is low purr, taunting her, but there's a note of challenge there, too, as if he knows he's pushing the boundaries.

Even that light touch is like a current of electricity that vibrates through her blood causing a very slight trembling to her hands. "If it hadn't been all right I'd have taken measures before I wasn't in any condition to stop you," Hermione points out before going back to eating.

Draco's eyes flash, but he looks more amused than angered, and he pushes up out of his chair. Prowling around the table, he sweeps her hair back with both hands and leans down to kiss the side of her neck. His lips travel upwards, until he's right by her ear, at which point he murmurs, "You may want to reserve judgment until you've seen my wards."

"Mmm... what's that got to do with anything? The door wouldn't have been there for the lab... there are ways and ways of hiding things," Hermione murmurs. It wasn't for nothing that they were so hard to find the year they were hunting horcruxes. She's developed many new and creative ways of hiding things then and since. She never shared all of them with her friends - some were too advanced.

Slowly, Draco moves his hands up her arms, barely brushing the fabric of her sweater, then he steps back. "I'm aware of that. Now I'm tempted to just let you have a crack at my wards," he adds, teasingly, reclaiming his seat and picking up his chopsticks again.

Hermione just quirks an eyebrow at him and goes back to eating. "Ron's brother Bill taught me a few tricks over the years that I've built on. He's rather brilliant," she says with seeming randomness after a while, smiling at the memories of working with the affable cursebreaker. "I don't generally break into things but I do enjoy looking at wards." It isn't so much that she can't or hasn't, but much like apparating into someone's home it wouldn't be particularly good manners to take down their wards just because she could.

"I'm familiar with Cursebreaker tricks," Draco says, with a nod. "Wards aren't something routinely taught to Aurors, after all, and Merlin knows we didn't learn anything about them at Hogwarts. I've picked up a few things myself, over the years."

Hermione's lips quirk and she nods, "I learned far more about them on my own than from any classes I took but then I had to learn a lot of things that way." Polyjuice potion in her second year, the Protean Charm when they started DA - Hermione has often learned things above and beyond what was expected of her year. She slowly finishes off her stir fry. "We did well with that. It tasted as good as it looked and smelled." Though he gets more than half the credit on that.

"I learned more from the Manor library, and people I worked with, than I ever did at school," Draco agrees, nodding. "Most of the books from the Manor's library have been relocated here, since thy did me no good there."

Hermione picks up her wine glass again and sips from it. Malfoy Manor brings back bad memories so she's glad Draco doesn't live there. Though no doubt it brings bad memories back for him as well considering he doesn't live there.

Silence descends, again, though this time it's less comfortable, as Draco has picked up on the fact that the Manor wasn't the best choice for dinner conversation. He finishes his food, drains his glass, and then clears his throat. "You're right, it was very good. Care to give me a hand with the dishes?"

Finishing her wine Hermione nods at him and leans over to brush a kiss on his cheek. "Of course," she murmurs softly before pushing her chair back and placing her napkin on the table before standing and picking up her plate with the chopsticks lying across it and her glass. "Sometimes I think the napkin serves as a charm to prevent spilling."

"That sounds perilously close to superstition," Draco says, picking up his plate and glass and carrying them into the kitchen. "I would have thought you'd be too logical to be superstitious, Hermione."

Hermione chuckles and shakes her head at him even as she too heads into the kitchen. "More like a statistical fact. I spill far less when I have a napkin than when I don't. I rather doubt superstition has anything to do with it."

"Perhaps the napkin gives you security, subconsciously, so you're less worried about spilling, and thus less likely to do it," Draco suggests, setting the dishes on a countertop and turning on the water in the sink. "Whereas when you don't have one, you're so worried about the possibility that you basically make it happen, on a subconscious level."

"Probably," Hermione agrees, a bit of a faraway look coming into her eyes as she remembers what a fuss her mother used to make over spills. She gives her head a tiny shake as she focuses in on the fact that it appears Draco plans to do dishes by hand. She wouldn't have expected that though she tends to prefer the muggle way for it herself. It's relaxing.

Draco would ordinarily do the dishes with magic, but he'd left his wand upstairs, and he/ not above doing them the Muggle way. "So after we've cleaned up, I'll show you around, if you like. Library or lab first?" He figures the library will be the bigger draw, but has to ask, since they'd talked about the lab.

Hermione belatedly sets down the dishes she was carrying and walks over to the stove to bring over the pans, bowl and utensils from preparing the meal. She looks torn between the two choices but then finally says, "It had best be the lab first I suppose... it is harder to get me out of a library." She freely admits that, though Draco might not have quite as much trouble with that as some would.

Adding soap to the water, Draco starts putting dishes into the water so he can start washing them, and he flashes her a grin. "I'm sure I can manage the nigh-impossible task of prying you away from the books. Lab first it is, then."

Hermione chuckles and locates a towel so that she can dry the dishes after he washes them. "Hmm, you might at that," she admits, though she doesn't /tell/ him he's more tempting than his library even now... because after all she'd still like to see the library.

Washing dishes is a simple enough chore, and Draco manages it with swift efficiency, proof that not having his wand really isn't a hardship. Then he glances down at the soap suds, smirks... and scoops up some of the bubbles to dab them onto her nose.

Her nose promptly crinkles at the addition and indeed after a moment causes a sneeze sending the bubbles careening through the air. Hermione just laughs and finishes wiping the plate in her hands setting it on the counter next to her with the other clean dishes. At least she didn't drop it. Once her hands are free of the plate though she reaches in and tickles his side with one hand.

Draco lets out a short laugh, letting the water drain from the sink. Then he catches her wrist in his hand, his other arm going around her waist, pulling her close.

Her free hand dropping the towel on the counter Hermione smiles as she snuggles up against his bare chest when he pulls her close. Her eyes twinkle a little as she comments, "Ticklish are you?" She wouldn't have guessed so it rather amuses her.

"Not really," Draco replies, letting go of her hand in favor of running his hand up her side. "It amuses me that you'd try, though. It's in the family creed somewhere, Malfoys are never ticklish."

"That makes sense. Otherwise they might laugh in public and that would be a travesty wouldn't it?" Hermione teases. On some level she's still marveling at the very oddness of the whole situation even while she's allowing herself to enjoy it.

"Indeed," Draco agrees solemnly. "There's an entire shelf full of things that Malfoys must and must not do, in the library." He leans in to kiss her lightly, his arms holding her close, and then murmurs, "But we agreed on the lab first, I believe."

Hermione gives a soft contented sigh and agrees, "Yes, we did. I'll bet that made it pretty funny for you if someone tried to use the Tummy Tickler Hex on you." Torture for the ticklish that one... for those who aren't? Not so much. Her arms stay loosely around his waist apparently not in much hurry either.

"It was rather amusing to see the look on the caster's face when I didn't laugh." Draco brushes her lips with his again and then pulls back, letting go of her and reaching for her hand. "Come on. Before I throw you over my shoulder and haul you back to bed."


	7. Chapter 07

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

**Author's Note:** Okay, I know it's taken us a while to update, but this chapter ended up being in hiatus for a while because I had some real-life stuff come up, and then I moved across town. Hopefully, it won't take as long to update in the future, but no guarantees. My partner in crime and I would like very much to thank those who've reviewed this story, and those who are reading without comment (although I admit to being a shameless attention whore and love getting reviews in my inbox). Love it, hate it, let us know! We love input. Anyway, on with the story.

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"It was rather amusing to see the look on the caster's face when I didn't laugh." Draco brushes her lips with his again and then pulls back, letting go of her and reaching for her hand. "Come on. Before I throw you over my shoulder and haul you back to bed."

Hermione takes his hand when he reaches for hers and gives it a squeeze even as she laughs at his comment. "Caveman tendencies coming out? We'd definitely better visit the lab first then," she teases.

"Caveman tendencies, yes." Draco leans over and kisses her cheek before leading the way out to the hallway and then up the stairs. "I don't want this to just be about sex, though." Especially since she's one of the few people he can actually carry on a conversation with.

Hermione can't even remember the last time she felt this playful, though the children at the library know Miss Granger has a sense of humor. She gives his hand a squeeze again and smiles up at him, "And that's probably why I'm this relaxed with you. I don't even really care that Ron is going to think I've gone completely mental," she admits, not even minding that it wasn't what she was intending to say. It's the truth and for once at least it isn't a particularly embarrassing one. Of course she doesn't honestly care much what Ron thinks about her relationships these days. He was a jealous prat when she was dating him and while he is still a friend Harry has always been a better one to her.

Halfway up the stairs, Draco turns and presses her up against the wall with a low growl, his hips pinning hers to the wall as he leans in to kiss her thoroughly, almost possessively. "Weasel can sod off," he rumbles, his lips moving against hers.

Hermione smiles against his mouth before kissing him again only after commenting, "Mmm, well, wouldn't be the first time I've had to tell him off for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. As I said, I don't much care about his opinion of the matter."

"Good." Draco slowly pulls back, his eyes a shade darker than their usual bright silver, and reaches for her hand again. "Lab's one more flight up."

Hermione lets her hand drop from where it came up to rest against his chest and places it in Draco's again. "Off we go then," she says, and if her voice is still a little breathless so what? "Harry won't be a problem I think. Maybe a little dubious at first, but so long as I'm happy he doesn't tend to make a fuss." Ginny may have already broken the news, but perhaps not. Hermione can't remember if she asked the other girl not to say anything or not given it just slipped out. Damn Japanese veritaserum.

"Potter can be talked into being sensible," Draco agrees, leading the way up the stairs. He's never really understood the wisdom behind having the potions lab in the Hogwarts dungeons; from an architectural standpoint, if something is liable to go boom he'd just as soon have it be at the /top/ of the house rather than the bottom. "Here. Have a look."

Hermione leans against him as she studies his wards with the same interest she gives any intellectual puzzle. She wrinkles her nose a little in concentration and a slow smile crosses her face, "Is that Tibetan? Or... Thai?" she asks giving a little nod to part of the ward. She hasn't had as much chance to study the oriental methods of warding though she's made some study of it, clearly not as much as Draco. It doesn't bother her, it's interesting to see new things with warding. Unknown wards can be cracked, they just take longer and one must be far more careful with them.

"Little of both, actually," Draco replies, his arm sliding around her waist. "The ward itself is Tibetan, but it's intertwined with that curse, see? And that other one is Thai." His wards are both ridiculously complex and full of nasty traps for the unwary.

"Very impressive," Hermione compliments as she finally looks away from the wards to smile up at him, "if rather nasty... though mine aren't all terribly nice at home either." At least not after the first layer which merely goes for stupefying idiots that try to meddle with them. The first layer is a warning. There's a beauty in that if the first layer is broken or set off the other layers all automatically go "hot".

Draco reaches out with his other hand and sets it on the door, and the wards disarm, the door unlocking and sliding open magically. "So. This is my lab." Which is clean and well-stocked, with two separate potion stations so that he can have up to four potions going at the same time.

"Nice size," Hermione says as she looks in. It's bigger than her lab, but then she does live in a flat after all. She doesn't often need to work on more than two potions at a time anyhow. "If we wouldn't have killed each other we'd probably have made an unbeatable team in potions class you know," she comments noting that his lab is as well organized as hers and perhaps a bit better stocked.

"Yes, well. Things were different, then." Draco watches her surveying his lab, then nods toward the bookshelves installed in one wall. "Most of my potions books are there, as well as Snape's."

Hermione's eyes are drawn to the shelves automatically, "You're appropriately cautious with the margin notes I hope?" She figures he probably is unlike, she recalls, a certain dark haired friend of hers. She's still rather annoyed that he nearly got better marks than she did in potions that year just from having Snape's book... however having Snape's book didn't save him when it came to exam time now did it?

Draco rolls his eyes, following her gaze. "Snape was brilliant, but I don't trust any alterations I haven't researched myself." He pauses for a moment before adding, "Unlike Potter, I actually know a thing or three about potions, and I rarely follow a formula unless I'm familiar with all of the ingredients and how they'll react."

Hermione leans up to brush a soft kiss against his lips, "Good. Though I think he rather learned his lesson about that in the end." That leaves her with a little frown as she recalls that the way he learned his lesson was in a hallway bit of nastiness with the man beside her that ended up injuring him rather badly. Harry was an idiot for using a spell he didn't know the purpose of even if he did feel awful over it when he saw the results.

"Yes, he did." Draco isn't really much for the heart-to-heart thing, but there was that one night shortly after everything was over with and they were all in Auror training that Harry and Ron got completely trashed, and Draco heard the whole story of the potions book from Harry's point of view. "The potion I made this morning is in that book there, third from the left on the fourth shelf, if you want to get it while I gather supplies?"

Hermione leans up and brushes a kiss on his lips and nods, "I can do that," she says, finally stepping into the lab and moving towards the bookshelf to retrieve the book in question - and to look at the other books of course, it would be fighting her nature not to at least have a peek at the titles. "Oh, you do have some fascinating books over here Draco. I recognize some of these from the required readings list for Potion Mastery. I suppose old sources of Snape's. He was actually quite young for a Potions Master, really." She flips through the book requested as she makes her way over to one of the workbenches in search of the potion formula.

"Page 136," Draco says, without looking, gathering ingredients from the shelves. "The notes in the margin are mine, suggestions from Pansy." Since he can't exactly test it himself, not being female and thus not prone to the particular problems the potion is designed to treat.

No, he's just prone to causing said problems, though having been rather enthusiastically participating herself Hermione can't entirely blame him. Finding the appropriate page she begins reading over the directions, trying not to frown at the mention of Pansy. She gives herself a little scolding - he's already said they didn't have anything romantic between them so she shouldn't be reacting like this. That's as unreasonable as Ronald can be. She shakes her head and chuckles, lifting her hand to push a curl back behind her ear and determinedly forces the jealous prat issues from her head. Just because Ron cheated on her doesn't mean Draco is like that... that's actually how she knew Ron and Luna would actually work, he's never pulled that crap on /her/ and has been actually sweet and slow-paced with their relationship. She looks up and smiles apologetically at Draco, 'Sorry, woolgathering.' is what she meant to say but instead out comes, "Sorry, I got caught up in being a bit of a jealous idiot and revisiting embarrassing past relationship moments..." she pauses feeling the heat in her cheeks and grumbles even as she just lets the words finish, "and the likelihood that in the event of meeting Pansy again I'll end up thanking her about the potion probably embarrassing myself in the process. I still can't believe I spilled to Ginny already. Brunch is going to be...interesting...tomorrow."

Draco arches a brow at her apology, although by the time she's finished he's quite obviously repressing the urge to laugh. He sets the potions ingredients down and pulls her into his arms, grey eyes searching her brown ones, one hand threading into her hair. "You needn't be jealous of Pansy. She's not half the woman you are, Hermione."

The blush deepens, though her tone is a bit dry as she says, "I didn't say it made sense... and it wasn't what I meant to say anyhow, but I rather expect you know that already." She's already come to the conclusion that she's going to have to arrange a leave of absence from the library for the duration - what comes out of her mouth randomly is too unpredictable to be working with the public. Luckily she can afford to take the time off as long as it isn't for too terribly long.

His thumb brushes across her forehead, smiling at her. "Perhaps not, but it was the truth. Pansy's going to come up in conversation, I'm afraid. We've known each other too long for her not to, longer than you've known Potter and Weasley, even." Draco's lips brush across her cheek, his voice lowering to a murmur. "Whatever this is, between us, I'm yours, for the duration."

Hermione's arms tighten around him in a tight hug for a long moment, "Friends do... and I know that... it isn't even about you exactly I suppose. More old ghosts of insecurities I suppose, regrettably logic doesn't always interfere with them quickly enough sometimes. But I don't believe you're the sort who is ever with someone unless you want to be," she replies. Most people see the logical, sensible, extremely intelligent girl and fail to notice the sensitivity and depth of feeling.

"You've been taken for granted for too long," Draco rumbles, his lips moving against her ear. "I will never make that mistake." He kisses her cheek, then lets her go slowly. "Come on, we'd best get started on that potion so we can have it finished before you need to make use of it again." Smirk.

Hermione's breath catches at his words, but the little smile she gives him turns into a saucy grin even as she sets to work prepping some of the ingredients for the potion with the precision and attention to detail and accuracy that one might expect of her. "Liaisons in the potions lab, Draco? That'd cost you points and a safety lecture from your esteemed mentor I should think."

Draco? glances sidelong at her with a wicked grin and drawls, "Well, there /is/ that whole other table we won't even be using." He had too much respect for Snape to defile the potions classroom at Hogwarts in such a fashion, but there's something rather appealing to the idea when it's his own personal lab... and Hermione Granger.

Hermione tries to give him one of those stern looks that never fail to put the boys in line when they need it (Ginny finds it hilarious though she can do the same thing) but doesn't quite manage it ending up smirking in amusement. "You are a very bad man sometimes, you know that? I hardly think the potion would be getting the required attention."

"Read the formula again, Granger," Draco says, affecting the same haughty air from their days at Hogwarts. "There's a full twenty minutes that the potion has to go completely unattended."

Hermione finishes carefully chopping the last of the ingredients into the sliver-thin strands required for perfect incorporation and says with a certain shrewd amusement, "Twenty minutes passes very quickly with you I've no doubt we would still be pleasantly distracted even with a timer. Though I suppose this potion isn't quite so delicate as some I've worked with."

Meanwhile, Draco has started the potion with the initial basic ingredients, and he smirks at her. "You might be surprised at just how efficiently I can use twenty minutes. But it's not all that delicate, it's true."

Hermione just chuckles though his work on the potion spares him a smack on the arm. "I'm sure you're a wonder of efficiency," she assures him as she offers him the ingredients she's chopped as they are called for.

His movements don't change, remaining quick and efficient, but a low rumble builds in his chest as he stirs in the offered ingredients. "That sounds rather like a challenge, Granger. One I feel rather obligated to accept."

"It actually wasn't," Hermione replies with a low laugh that turns into a slow grin, "but I do know how men are with a challenge, I suppose you won't be deterred and I shall just have to indulge it." The last comes out half-purred, her tone answering to that sexy rumble of his.

Draco stirs in the next ingredient, which needs to simmer for a few minutes before adding another one. Then he reaches for her, catching her hip with one hand to pull her closer, the other sliding into her hair so that he can lean in and kiss her, that rumble turning into a low growl.

The growl sends a shiver through her as Hermione melts into him, snuggling closer as she twines her arms around his neck. The feel of his body against hers, his mouth against hers, the slightest touch - all send electrical currents singing through her blood making every pulse point, every nerve come alive with anticipation.

The hand at her hip slides upwards, under her sweater, fingers trailing along the skin, and his other hand threads through her hair, holding her close as he deepens the kiss. After a moment, he breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down to her neck, planting an open-mouthed kiss at the pulse point in her throat.

Her voice turns soft and breathy even as her eyelids fall heavily to splay long dark lashes against the curve of her cheek, head falling back, "Draco..." Her arms tighten around his neck, needing to hold onto him. Neither of her past boyfriends would be likely to describe Hermione as wild or uninhibited and yet _he_ makes her feel positively wanton.

"Hermione." Draco's lips move against her neck, his breath washing over her skin, as his fingers make slow patterns just below her chest. "We have," he rumbles, his voice a purr, "exactly thirty seconds before I have to add that next ingredient." Trust Draco to make Potions sound sexy.

Hermione's lashes lift slightly, "Mmmm, yes," she agrees (though truth be told if it were her that was to be keeping track of the timing the potion would probably overheat before she noticed. He's THAT distracting).

"Just two more to add, and then we'll have twenty minutes," Draco purrs, his hand sliding upwards to palm her breast before withdrawing, teeth nipping at the side of her neck. "I expect we'll need every second of that time," he adds, silvery eyes flashing as he pulls back to look at her.

Pink tinges her complexion to a rosy glow, her face framed by the wild, unruly brown tresses that only grow less tamed each time his fingers wrap around them. Her eyes sparkle as she murmurs breathily, "Enjoy every second too."

"Count on it." Draco reaches past her to get the next ingredient, stirring it into the cauldron and then adding the last one shortly thereafter. Then he turns down the flame under the cauldron and steps back, hauling her into his arms again and kissing her soundly.

She curves into him, arms tightening back around him even while a soft little mmm of pleasure is promptly swallowed by his kiss. Her lips part for him immediately, allowing their tongues to duel. The potions lab might be cool but Hermione is anything but cold. If anything she is now too warm in that sweater.

Draco is about to assist with the sweater, his hands sliding up under it, pushing it upwards. He breaks the kiss, nips at her chin, then draws the sweater up the rest of the way over her head. "Buttons are better," he rumbles, before going right back to kissing her, backing her toward the other table, which is currently clear of all potion-making supplies.

"I didn't exactly have time to change before I came after you," Hermione points out breathily, sliding her arms out of the sleeves as he helps her remove the sweater. No, if she'd been expecting to see him again she certainly would have changed but when someone is lying hurt in an alley taking the time to change would be ridiculous. She gives him a smoldering smile as the back of her thighs feels the edge of the table behind her.

"Could've borrowed mine," Draco counters, pausing momentarily as the image flashes in his head of her wearing one of his shirts and nothing else. He smiles down at her, silver eyes darkening almost to pewter. He nuzzles at the side of her neck, nips at the curve of her shoulder, his hands roving down over her breasts, fingers toying with her nipples before sliding lower, passing over her stomach and heading unerringly for the button of her jeans, making good on his promise not to waste a second of their twenty minutes.

Hermione has a sudden flash of satisfaction at the thought of wearing something of his, a shirt that still smells faintly of the clean, warm, expensive scent of him. "I'll keep that in mind next time," she purrs, running her hands up and down his back.

"Do that." Draco's fingers nimbly undo the button and then the zipper of her jeans, shoving them downward before coming back up to cup her backside and lift her up onto the table. His head lowers, lips roving across her collarbone and planting kisses there before dropping further to lavish attention to her breasts, one after the other.

Hermione's lips quirk in a lazy smile despite herself with the rather breathy observation made even as her fingers continue to caress his skin as she's settled on the table, "You smell delicious. I rather wonder how much the scent of amortentia changes between brewings. That was an interesting potion wasn't it?" Ah, randomness. Truthful randomness that would probably embarrass the hell out of her under most circumstances - It is a measure of how oddly trusting she is of Draco that (aside from the reaction to him she isn't even coloring at the unwilling speculations the airborne veritaserum is causing at this point much). Much like being giddily and carelessly drunk, she's accepted in a way that she'd never have managed a few years ago that she cannot change this. What cannot be changed must be endured... or taken one step further. She's decided to if not exactly /enjoy/ the unaccustomed uninhibitedness to flow with it while with him, a decision that is remarkably freeing.

"Granger," Draco drawls, one hand running up her thigh to tease her legs apart as his head lifts, lips curling in that familiar smirk, "you are /such/ a bookworm." He doesn't tell her to shut up, though, instead using a far simpler means of silencing her, leaning in to capture her lips with his as his fingers probe and tease, with every intention of driving all thoughts, random or otherwise, straight out of her head.

His words provoke a low chuckle, but no protest though it would have only been cut off. Shutting off Hermione's thoughts, random or otherwise, is never easy, but perhaps unsurprisingly far less so for him. Indeed her last hazy thought unvoiced in the passion of their kiss is a detached purry little voice that comments that it is as well that lab tables don't catch fire easily because she's sure she's melting... faster than one of Neville's cauldrons in Potions class.

With his other hand, Draco loosens the pajama bottoms to let them drop to the floor, pushing her back further on the table and climbing onto it with her. There's a little clock ticking away in his brain, counting down the remainder of those twenty minutes, and he moans into her mouth as he guides himself inside of her, his hand withdrawing to catch her hip, his other arm bracing against the table.

She lays back, pulling at him to bring him with her, moaning in pleasure as he does join her on the table and still more as he joins with her. It is a study of contrasts - the heat of their bodies, the coolness of the table, the surface hard beneath her her, him hard against her softness. She revels in it, her hips reaching up to meet him in welcome. Though her nose and the back of her mind are aware of the potion brewing her other senses have taken dominance and are focused only on him.

In spite of Draco's reputation in school and Pansy's recent claim that he's the Slytherin Sex God, he never /did/ defile the potions classroom by having sex in it, with Pansy or anyone else. He has no reservations about this, though, even though his mentor and former professor is surely turning in his grave; Snape is the farthest thing from Draco's mind as he moves with her, almost torturously slow at first to draw it out, make it last, and gradually, little by little, increasing the pace.

Hermione is, perhaps, marginally patient with the initial slow pace though her body is responding with a desperate craving for him. Experience has taught her that good things come to those who wait (of course it has also taught her that sometimes you have to go and grab those good things for yourself, but waiting can be quite, QUITE enjoyable with Draco). Her lips slip over his cheek and she draws his earlobe between them even as her legs wrap around his back. Every little sigh and moan that has her breaking off or pausing speaks of how much she's enjoying what they are doing with each other.

As the timer in his head winds down, Draco's pace picks up, spurred on even more by the way her body responds to his, the seconds ticking away as he draws them both closer to that edge. He's used the time very efficiently, as promised, but with just minutes left to go he wants to feel her shudder beneath him, around him, wants to hear her cry out, and his mouth finds her earlobe, teeth nipping before he pants, "Come for me, Hermione. Come with me."

His words have eyelids that were too heavy to remain open moments sooner lifting - the desire burning in her eyes as she smiles slowly and gives a deliberate swivel to her hips with his next thrust relaxing into the fireworks show the two of them are intimately involved in. "To...gether....yes..." The words come out almost a gasp, he can without a doubt feel the way her body is starting to vibrate like a finely strung instrument at both his voice and touch.

Together, yes, his mind agrees, a thought that goes unvoiced because the 'fireworks' blast it completely out of his head, along with the capacity for speech altogether, feeling her tremble beneath him as his own body quivers in response. Timing is everything, but Draco has /excellent/ timing, so that they fall over that edge together, as the seconds tick past on his mental timer.

Hermione holds onto him, her anchor through the storm of pleasure coursing through her. Her arms don't loosen any, even when she comes to rest again flat on the lab table. It doesn't matter that they are both sweaty, while one arm remains to hold him close the other drifts slowly up and brushes his hair back from his face and she just smiles at him. It is completely relaxed and completely unguarded.

Draco smiles back at her, a rare, genuine smile, leaning in to kiss her gently. Then he flashes her a wicked grin, one hand coming up to pluck a stray curl from where it's stuck to the sweat on her forehead. "Told you I could make very efficient use of twenty minutes," he drawls, looking justifiably smug.

"I didn't really doubt that," Hermione can't help but point out, her smile a wee bit indulgent when he starts looking smug (though well he might from how she's positively glowing and not all from the sweat). She leans up lazily to kiss the corner of his mouth, "Rather different sort of 'down time' when it comes to brewing... though I don't think I'd try it with a trickier potion mind you."

That draws a laugh from him, and Draco winds his arms around her and just hugs her, briefly, before reluctantly pulling away from her so he can add the last ingredient and stir the potion before turning the heat off. "I've never actually tried that method of 'down time' before. You're a bad influence on me, Hermione."

"Likewise I'm sure, but then I'm rather used to bad influences," Hermione replies looking particularly amused. "Certainly I haven't tried your method of 'down time' while brewing before."

Her tone suggests she would have it no other way.

"It's got to cool for an hour before it can safely be portioned out," Draco says, finishing with the potion and padding back over to her, a wicked gleam in his eyes to go along with his smirk. "Care to see the library? We can break in the bookshelves in a whole new fashion."

"Taking inspiration from romance novels now?" Hermione teases, "Didn't the bookshelves end up falling over in that scene?" She straightens where she's still sitting on the other lab table, feet swinging a little. There's a twinkle in her eye as she adds, "Been harboring librarian fantasies have you?"

Catching hold of her waist, Draco pulls her to her feet and hard against him, one hand trailing down her back. "Fantasies about one specific children's librarian, in particular, the last couple of days. My bookshelves are a little more sturdily built than the ones in that book, but I'm willing to put them to the test."

Her hand coming up to cup his cheek, Hermione leans up to press her lips against his a moment. Her eyes sparkle as she replies teasingly, "Definitely a bad influence. These experiments of yours are going to make it quite difficult to go anywhere and not think of you I expect." It doesn't sound as though the prospect displeases her though it is, perhaps, one more reason that it is just as well that she takes a leave of absence from the library. Goodness knows what the children might overhear if one of her colleagues asked her what she was thinking.

"I rather like the sound of that," Draco rumbles, his lips moving against hers and then across her cheek. His hand moves to caress her hip, and then he slowly pulls back. "Shall we relocate to the library? Or perhaps I should just carry you off to bed, instead."

And while Hermione does want to see his library it is rather clear that neither of them really have books on their mind... unless it would be in the form of scenes from that torrid novel of Pansy's. "Well...." she draws the word out, "if we don't go to the library now we really must later..." Somewhere floating around her head beneath the very large distraction of the man standing right in front of her is the problem-solving mechanism of hers and it is still working busily away at how to help him find the kidnappers and some of Hermione's best work has been done in libraries for that.

"You're welcome to spend time looking through it later." Draco's hands move, sweeping her off her feet and into his arms, then starting for the door. "Right now, I want you to be as focused on me as I am on you." One more thing the Slytherin ambition is good for: focus.

Locking her arms around his neck and resting her head against his shoulder, Hermione smiles softly, "You tend to disrupt my focus on anything else." It is admitted with a little chuckle. She's far more focused than most of her friends (though perhaps focus isn't the most common of Gryffindor traits and her friends, after all, are mostly Gryffindors aside from Luna).

"It's quite the pleasurable task, disrupting your focus." Draco carries her out of the lab and then down the stairs, nudging his bedroom door open wider with his foot so he can bring her through it. "I like finding new and different things to throw your focus completely off track." As evidenced by the way he sets her on the bed and crawls in with her, leaning to nip at the side of her neck.

"Focused and creative," Hermione says, though her breath catches at the feel of his teeth grazing her neck and her voice turns to that little half purr when she continues, "I like that in a man..." What's not to like? She's never thought of herself as being particularly creative, but adventurous does perhaps fit and that is perhaps equally good.

Draco promptly sets about ensuring that she likes it a whole lot more... with gusto. Eventually, they will see about portioning the potion into vials (which she now has reason to use), and visiting the library, and possibly defiling other vertical and horizontal surfaces of his home, but for now he'll settle for making very good use of the bed.


	8. Chapter 08

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

**Author's Note:** My sincerest apologies for how long it took to complete this chapter. Among some of the other things I've dealt with since my last post, I had to deal with a laptop crash and a shift schedule change, but I'm hoping to get back on a halfway regular posting schedule. We did something a little different with this chapter, splitting the focus to go with more of a Hermione PoV (and major kudos to my partner in crime, bookaddict19, because she does Hermione so very well), and we'll do something similar with the next chapter as we focus on Draco. As always, props to reviewers, reviews make us happy and prompt us to write more!!

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The next morning Hermione had cause to be very glad of the previous day's brewing. After downing a dose of the potion and making some use of some laundering charms on her clothes she had gotten as far as putting on underwear and her denims before asking after a glance out the window at the sunny day, "Draco... can I borrow one of your shirts?" The heavy cable-knit sweater she was wearing yesterday looks much too warm for today even if she is planning on taking the boys to the park. The weather is so fickle this time of year: one day chilly the next warm.

Technically, this is Draco's weekend off, but he's not about to lay around in bed when there are bad guys needing catching. Especially after one of them beat him up just yesterday. He slides up behind her, shirt still unbuttoned so that his bare chest makes contact with her back, his hands sliding around her waist and then upwards. "I like the thought of you wearing my shirt," he rumbles, into her ear. "You're welcome to borrow one, provided I get to take it off of you later." He's already called his team to have them meet him at the Ministry, and placed a second call to make sure Jane is safely transported from Mungo's.

She can't help the way she leans back against him even as Hermione's hands go to his and put a halt to that upward progress, "You'll make me late for brunch... or miss it entirely if that keeps up," she chides lightly. "You'd like me to come back after I return the boys then? I'm taking them to the park for the afternoon. That lovely big one with the zoo and the gardens."

Turning just a little to look at their reflection in the mirror, Draco doesn't answer her right away. The safer option, for both of them, would be for him to meet her at her flat, after work. "I'd like you to come back, yes," he says, finally, leaning to kiss her shoulder. "I'll adjust the wards before I go, so you can."

"If I get back before you do I'll probably just sit in the library... if that's all right?" Hermione asks. Not that he couldn't guess that it would be the place she'd be first drawn to. "I thought perhaps I'd work on a few things..." She has a few ideas... things that might help. They may not actually require her to touch a single volume from his shelves but Hermione has done some of her best work in libraries. It is a setting she finds infinitely comforting.

"It's fine." Draco smiles, visible in the mirror, and then frees his hands from hers long enough to slide them upward to cup her chest before drawing them back and stepping away from her. "It may be close to dinnertime before I'm back, I'll bring something home with me." His hands move to button up his shirt, which he does fairly quickly now that he's resigned himself to getting dressed.

When he releases her Hermione steps away to head over to the closet, selecting one of Draco's dress shirts and removing it from the hanger. Slipping it on she gives him a saucy grin as she cuffs the sleeves first since they hang beyond her hands. The shirt itself comes down to mid-thigh. "Sounds good," she says as she buttons up the shirt. Conjuring up a heavy-duty brush and a hair tie she begins brushing out her curly hair before securing it into a ponytail, all without the aid of a mirror.

Shirt buttoned, Draco adds a tie, then his robes, the very image of wizarding chic while still staying within the MLE's dress code. He runs a comb through his hair, then makes sure his Auror badge and identification papers are close to hand before turning his head to watch her finishing with her hair. Crossing back to her in two strides, he pulls her into his arms and leans in for a kiss.

Hermione lifts her lips to meet his kiss and then gives him a soft smile, "I suppose its time for me to go face the inquisition. You have a good day all right?" For all that she just dubbed brunch the inquisition she doesn't appear worried about it. She probably should be more wary, Ginny will spot many things within the first minute after she walks into the Potter household but at the moment Hermione is too relaxed to care.

Draco brings a hand up to touch her cheek, smiling back at her, and then he sighs. "Time for me to deal with assorted paperwork. I'll be pulling DeWitt's file, going over it with the team, but I doubt we'll find anything worthwhile. He's a slippery bastard." He has his suspicions that DeWitt has at least one member of the MLE in his pocket, to escape capture so long, if not more. It's not something he can prove, yet, which is why he'll be going back over the files again.

"Sounds delightful. Perhaps if you can find out how they got in my place it would give you a lead? Crookshanks did scratch someone too I think given what his claws looked like," Hermione points out. "If there is a complete name for DeWitt could you jot it down? I've a mind to try some arithmantic equations and see what might come up that way."

"I'm going to go by your place to talk to the building manager." Draco kisses her forehead, smirking down at her. "Arithmancy, eh? There should be a full name on file, but I'll check it for you. Have fun with the rugrats." He's really glad he's not close enough to Potter and Weasley that his presence would be welcome at these weekend brunch things.

Hermione smirks, "Oh I plan to... and if brunch is too obnoxious I'll return them to Ginny and Harry more sugared up than a third year after their first Hogsmeade trip." Evil brilliance. "So where's a good place to apparate from then?" she asks, figuring the bedroom isn't it.

"Foyer," Draco replies, letting go of her and turning, though he reaches for her hand to twine his fingers with hers. "Safest place is always outside, of course, when there are wards, but the whole purpose of a foyer is to facilitate comings and goings without bothering the rest of the house. Getting out is easier than getting in, though, with the way my wards are set up. You'll want to use the door, when you come back later." He doesn't have time to rework the wards on the entire house.

"Mmmkay... I'd best have a look outside then hadn't I? You brought us directly into the house and it isn't easy to apparate to someplace you haven't been... not impossible of course, but not easy," Hermione says, remembering the horcrux hunt in what should have been her seventh year at Hogwarts. She gives his hand a squeeze even as they head downstairs.

"You can look out the door while I'm reworking the wards, how's that?" Draco smirks at her, leading the way down the stairs and across the foyer to the front door, which he opens, the wards disarming automatically as he does so. Then he goes to work with quick, methodical precision, stripping the existing wards from the door and its frame, then replacing them with new ones, subtly altered so that at first glance they look almost the same as what was already there.

Hermione does just that, fixing the location in her memory even as she takes a deep breath of fresh air with a smile. "A tiny bit chilly now, but it should be lovely by the time brunch is over. All right then, I'm off," she says, pausing just long enough to give him a kiss on the cheek before she apparates to the Potter's.

Draco watches her go, and it's probably a good thing no one's around to see him, otherwise the fond smile on his face would totally give him away. Schooling his features back into his trademark smirk, he finishes with the door and closes it behind himself before apparating directly to the Ministry. Meanwhile, at the Potter household, chaos reigns, as Ginny tries to keep some semblance of order among her brother, her husband, and her two sons. Luna's a dear, but she's not a whole lot of help.

Hermione's arrival is heralded by Harry's delighted cry of "Hermione!" echoed moments later by the chorus of "Mine Mine Mine Mine" by young Albus and James each trying to escape the arms of their father and "Uncle" Ron to get to her. "Morning you lot," she calls out cheerfully scooping James from his father's arms first and giving him a smacking kiss on his cheek before handing him back and doing the same with Albus.

"Morning, Hermione!" Ginny calls, bustling out of the kitchen to greet the new arrival with a smile. It quickly turns into a rather shrewd look, though, and she makes a shooing motion with her hands at the boys. "Harry, Ron, see if you can keep the boys occupied for ten minutes while I finish getting things set on the table. Think you can manage that long? Hermione, kitchen!" Clearly, Ginny's inherited her mother's ability to order people about, as Ron doesn't even think to protest, scooping up Albus and looking to Harry for direction. "Never changes, does it, 'Mione?"

Hermione just gives Ron a bland smile as she hands Albus back to him, "I'll burn some toast just for you, Ronald," she says in way of answer. She's in far too good a mood for Ginny's order to really bother her. And of course she knew damn well she was in for a grilling this morning anyway.

Harry chuckles and says as he carries his eldest into the living room, "Yes, dear. C'mon Ron. We can introduce the boys to the latest Weasley Wizarding Whizzes products George sent."

At least Ginny has sense enough not to grill her best friend in front of said best friend's ex-boyfriend. Proof positive that she really /is/ the smartest of the Weasleys, even if her last name is now Potter. "And keep the boys out of that one box, I don't like the look of it, it's almost like that one he sent for our anniversary." Which was not child-appropriate. Cough. She practically drags Hermione into the kitchen, even over her brother's protest of, "Oi! I like burnt toast!" Freak. Shaking back her hair, Ginny points a finger at Hermione. "That's /his/ shirt, isn't it? You're wearing his /shirt/!!"

Cue Hermione fingering the cuffs of said shirt and looking entirely too smug for her own good, "It's really nice material, very soft. I wonder what it's made of," she says thoughtfully. Not up on wizarding materials, no. She looks out the kitchen window and spots Luna wandering around the garden and quirks an eyebrow then shrugs. "I won't even ask what she's doing out there." With Luna it is often better not to ask.

Ginny /squeals/. "Merlin, 'Mione, you spent the night at his house, didn't you??" It's amazing how she manages to put all this together with just a few clues, something the boys have never been able to do. She glances out the window and waves a hand, giggling a little. "Looking for traces of a snarfle-something-or-other, she thinks we have one in our garden. I forget what she called it." She looks back at Hermione and grins. "She had Ron out there earlier, down on his hands and knees under the shrubberies. You should've seen them."

Hermione has, despite the smugness, turned about three shades of red, "Not so loud, I'll be lucky if I don't let it slip during brunch anyway with that damn Kyoto Veritas in my system. Harry won't be keen but he won't be a complete idiot about it but you know your brother will pitch a screaming hissy about it. He's completely irrational about Draco." Looking back out at Luna she smirks, "Only Luna could manage that... or your mother if she was making him de-gnome the garden."

"That's because Draco has better hair," Ginny remarks, rolling her eyes at the reminder that her brother can often be an idiot. She settles Hermione at the table and bustles around the kitchen, the spitting image of Molly Weasley at times like this. With tea poured, and several valuable minutes of girl-time, she proceeds to thoroughly grill her best friend as much as she can, at least until the smell of food has everyone rampaging back into the kitchen.

Brunch in the Potter household is quite the chaotic affair, but eventually everyone gets fed, Luna and Ron are hugged goodbye, and Hermione is packed off with James and Albus in tow. The gleam in Ginny's eye suggests it may be a while before any actual work gets done, but then there's a reason she's already expecting baby number three.

"All right you two charmers, are you ready for the park?" Hermione asks as she pushes the double stroller after safely arriving near Kensington Gardens. There are nice play areas as well as the small zoo and she figures she can keep the little guys happy for a few hours there without much problem. At least it's a nice day. "Sings, Mine!" James sings out. He doesn't talk a whole lot for adults to understand for all that he and Albus jabber up a storm in their own brother-language. Still there's the occasional word or its approximation. "Swings it is, James m'lad. You and Albus will have to take turns getting pushed though," Hermione reminds the boy.

She makes her way past the duck pond where a few enterprising children sail small boats under supervision – she's staying far away from that with these two. One or both would be certain to fall in. Arriving at the play equipment she parks the stroller beside the swings and smiles down at Albus, "Up you get, handsome." The youngest (at least for the moment) Potter gives her a flirtatious baby smile. He's quieter than his brother but he gets the funniest expressions on his face that often have Hermione wondering what he's thinking. "Think that's funny, do you?" she says tickling him before settling him in the baby swing and reaching back for his brother, smiling happily at his giggles and happy chortles of, "Mine!" Harry's boys are delightful.

Pushing the boys on the swings, turns to watching them play in the sandbox and a discrete clean up after they decide throwing sand is a good idea. They all ride the merry-go-round together. Visiting the zoo is peaceful as both boys are tuckered out for the park so she lets them look at the animals until they doze off and then settles on a bench while they nap in the stroller, giving it a push back and forth now and again. Once they wake from their nap they look at some more of the animals by which time Hermione figures the little guys might be getting hungry. "Well, boys, who wants ice cream?" she asks, a twinkle in her eyes. "I'cweam! Yay! I' cweam, Abus!" James is clearly on board with that suggestion. Albus just chortles happily. "I take it that's a yes. Off we go then," she says and begins to push the stroller through the park making her way to use a 'short-cut' of sorts to Charing Cross Road where they can step into Diagon and have ice cream at Florian Fortescues. She's in the mood for some raspberry fudge nut ripple.

The line at Florian's is fairly long since the day has warmed considerably. In the press of the crowd, there's a distinct sense of anonymity, which could well be why Hermione doesn't notice that one of her old classmates from Hogwarts is standing right behind her in line. "Well, well, if it isn't Hermione Granger." The voice is low and smooth as whiskey, just a hint of a wicked purr in it even in greeting, and the speaker is none other than Pansy Parkinson, famed author of a number of bestselling wizarding romances... and Draco Malfoy's ex-girlfriend.

Ron's favorite expletive echoes through Hermione's mind as she turns to see who is saying her name. Pansy Parkinson isn't the last person that she wanted to see but she certainly ranks in the top ten today. She tries to school her expression into some form of pleasant, "Pansy Parkinson... I haven't seen you since Hogwarts." Something she's quite all right with, really.

Pansy tsks, her smile wide and almost believably genuine. "Likewise, but then I suppose you've had better things to do, hm?" There's just a trace of sarcasm to her tone, veiled beneath the surface, just a touch of venom to the saccharine smile. Her attire is classy and chic without being overdone: thin cashmere cardigan over scoop-neck top, both in shades of green, and a pair of trousers cut to flatter her figure. The glossy dark hair is cut in a chin-length bob, and she's grown into the once-pug nose, which lends a pixie cast to the rest of her face. Dark green eyes shift to take in the boys, and the smile widens. "Babysitting for the Potters? Those /are/ Harry's boys, if I'm not mistaken?"

The put together look makes Hermione feel frumpy. She shrugs a little at the whole 'better things to do' comment. It isn't as though they were ever friends so why wouldn't she have better things to do? "Yes, we've just come from the park. I thought ice cream might be nice before returning them," she replies with a hint of a smile.

Back in school, Pansy was so far in Draco's shadow that no one really paid her any attention or gave her any thought beyond 'Draco's girlfriend'. She got good marks, but with Draco and Hermione vying for top of the class in nearly every subject everyone else was overlooked, and Pansy's gotten used to surprising people with a wit they've never ascribed to her. Her attention returns to Hermione, the green eyes narrowing as she takes in the other woman's choice of wardrobe, and one eyebrow arches in surprise. "You've seen Draco." It's not a question, but at least it's pitched low enough not to be overheard by everyone else in the store.

Someone up above is laughing at her this week, Hermione would swear. First the whole business with Johnny makes her work with Draco. Then she gets kidnapped. No sooner does she get rescued than she finds herself under the influence of an illegal potion that has her telling the truth at awkward times. She finds herself falling awfully quickly for a man she once hated and now his ex-girlfriend looking like she stepped out of a magazine is going to grill her about it. Fan-freaking-tastic. She can't help the color that brightens her complexion or the slight lift of her chin that is typical defensiveness, her eyes are all too vulnerable, naturally with the way her luck has been running her words don't come out quite how she intended, "I didn't intend to but I'm surprisingly glad I did." It's only the presence of the boys that keeps her from forgetting the ice cream (there'd be mutiny if she tried now) and leaving right now.

"I'd recognize that shirt anywhere," comes Pansy's reply, the wicked purr of her voice the sort of sound one doesn't expect to hear outside the bedroom. Polished and put together in such an innocent setting as a children's ice cream parlor, Pansy still manages to practically ooze sexuality from every pore. No wonder she's famous for her steamy romance novels. Leaning just a little closer, her smile razor sharp, she adds, "I bought it for him, after all."

It was bad enough getting busted by Ginny but this... Hermione almost winces. The line moves forward and it is her turn to order. "Two chocolate swirl baby cones, please," Hermione tells the girl at the counter. Funny how her appetite has completely fled. "You have good taste," she says quietly, not really knowing what to say. She's out of her depth and she knows it. She spent way too much time with the boys growing up and she still doesn't always know what to do with a catty female.

Getting busted by Ginny was nothing compared to this, because at least Ginny's ribbing was of a friendlier sort, whereas Pansy... there's not likely to be anything nice about Pansy. "Of course I do," she purrs, accepting the compliment before twisting it around. "So does Draco." Her eyes flicker over Hermione again and she adds, "Usually. Most of his conquests don't get to raid his wardrobe, though. You must be special." The words are honey laced with shards of glass, the tone almost perfectly sincere except for that hint of mockery, to plant a seed of doubt.

Hermione looks at Pansy a long moment and there's something in her gaze that says on some level she finds Pansy to be very small to say that. There's no warmth in her eyes, in fact the light has dulled in them considerably. She accepts the cones and hands them off to the boys with total disregard for the mess they'll make feeding themselves. All she wants is to get out of there anyway. Sick hurt fills her stomach and her eyes light on the clock with relief, "Is it really that late? I'd best get the boys back."

"Granger." The wicked purr is still there, but for the moment it's tempered, muted, her expression more genuinely concerned, the green eyes almost vulnerable. "Be careful. Often the greatest cruelty comes on the heels of kindness, and moreso with Draco. He has his moments, true, but his capacity for cruelty should never be forgotten." Then she turns her head, stepping past Hermione to place her order with the guy at the counter.

It is as though all lightheartedness has left her and a heavy weight settled back upon her shoulders. The boys are happily getting ice cream all over themselves, oblivious to the pain their 'Mine' is in. She makes her way back to the Potter's and makes an attempt to hide the upheaval in her mind behind a flurry of apologies over the mess the boys are in. "I'll just pop off so that you can get them in the bathtub."

Ginny is perceptive enough to know that something is bothering her friend, but the distraction is a good one: she can't trust Harry to bathe the boys alone, or they'll flood the bathroom. Again. "All right, Hermione, but call me later? Tomorrow, even." Herding the boys back to the bathroom requires all of her attention, however, so Hermione is allowed to slip out without further grilling.

With a small pop she apparates without actually agreeing to Draco's. The pain and insecurity from Pansy's words have her a bit irrational, she isn't thinking clearly. She gathers up her things and trades his shirt for her sweater again, eyes tearing as she casts a laundering charm on it. Pulling out a small notebook and pen from her bag she looks sourly at the sheet of paper she tears from it. Torn out notebook paper as opposed to fine parchment. That about sums it all up. The note she writes doesn't make much sense, but does mention Pansy being right. Funny how even muggle ink smears when tears fall on it. She makes her way back downstairs and sets the note down without reading it over (very unlike her) before stepping back outside and disapparating with a crack. Wild scatterbrained schemes are running through her head to just leave. She wasn't all right before and now... now its worse. She doesn't want to see anyone.


	9. Chapter 09

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

**Author's Note:** Our sincerest apologies about the delay in posting this chapter. It was a bear to get started, but once we started it came together fairly easily. It picks up with Draco's day after Hermione heads out for brunch (as seen in Chapter 8), and focuses mostly on him and his team. Thanks to everyone who's been following this story as well as those who've reviewed, and of course major kudos to my partner in crime, bookaddict19, without whom most of this wouldn't have been possible.

* * * * *

After watching Hermione depart, Draco Apparates directly to the Ministry, where he makes a quick detour to the file room before heading immediately for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He's already called his team, and two of them are already waiting in one of the conference rooms, though the third appears to have been delayed. "Onver's not here yet?" he asks, scowling.

"He's on his way," comes the reply. Andrews is the oldest member of his team, some six years older than Draco, but his service record is somewhat less than impressive. "Said he had something to take care of first." Before Draco can ask the obvious question of why Onver didn't call /him/ with this news, he adds, "I'm just the messenger, Malfoy, no need to bite my head off. Save it for him when he gets here."

Mortimer "Morty" Onver hasn't had the best week. Short and with thin dark hair (he likes to compare himself to a young Danny Devito) Morty is a year younger than Andrews but his mediocre performance has him riding the desk more often than not. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, I know I'm late... my old lady's bloody cat is still pissed about getting fixed." That's his story and he's sticking to it. Damn librarians and their damn vicious pets.

"Since when does your mother have a cat?" Draco asks, turning to fix the trademark Malfoy glare on the newly-arrived Onver. Behind him, Andrews smirks and Underhill barely suppresses a snicker, since all of them know Morty can't get a date to save his life. Meanwhile, the wheels in Draco's head are turning, wondering why the hell the man's wrist is bandaged over a few ordinary cat scratches, easily healed by a simple potion. Unless the cat wasn't just a cat.

They weren't supposed to call him on it! "Since the wretched creature followed her home from the take-away. She should never have fed it fish," Morty says making a face. Truthfully his mother hates cats. He can't say he likes them either - particularly not the fiendish beast in question.

Silver eyes narrow, and Draco glances briefly at the table. "We're needing the rest of the documentation on DeWitt," he says, his voice calm and smooth on the surface and hard as steel beneath it. "Since you couldn't be bothered to join us on time, you can play gopher and run along and fetch them for us." He makes a dismissive gesture with one hand and adds, "Shoo." Behind him, Underhill snickers again.

Morty gets up reluctantly to go and find the file. Who knows where the bloody thing has gotten to this time. Figures 'his highness' would send him. His thoughts are full of grumbling and resentment towards Malfoy and the others as he makes his way out of the room. Reaching into his pocket as he walks he wraps a hand around his lucky dice, then frowns as he notices one has gone missing. "Bloody brilliant. Just like the rest of my life," he mutters bitterly.

Waiting until he's certain Morty's out of earshot, Draco turns to his team, his expression grave though his eyes are still flashing with anger. "Either of you recall seeing Onver yesterday when we were rounding up DeWitt's lackeys?" he asks. The place was crawling with Aurors, to take the downed men into custody after their leader escaped, yet Draco is fairly certain that Morty wasn't among them

Lewis Underhill shakes his head and looks to John Andrews who is frowning, "No... now that you mention it I didn't. Damn strange, that," he says. Underhill is frowning too. "Huh. I don't remember him being there. Was he on desk yesterday? Cuz it wasn't his day off."

"My collar," Draco reminds them, with a shake of his head as he corrects himself. "/Our/ collar. This case is ours, he /should/ have been there." He's already forming conclusions in his head, but he can't afford to handle this on his own, not against a fellow Auror, there's too much potential for it to blow up in his face and cost him his career. If he can get the rest of his team on board, though... "Here's something else, since when does any self-respecting wizard suffer a few easily-treatable cat scratches by wearing a bandage over them?"

Underhill wrinkles his nose, "Last time I saw scratches that bad my sister's kneazle was taking something of a fierce dislike to her ex-boyfriend... turned out he was a nasty one," he says. "Think he ran into a kneazle?" Andrews is nodding his agreement that Morty should have been there. "You're right, Malfoy. Even Davis showed up even if it was just to do the recording... or you know... to check you out." Linda Davis, mousy little clerk extraordinaire.

Draco growls at Andrews, then rolls his eyes and shakes his head, orienting on Underhill. "Kneazle. Or part-kneazle, even, would do it. RCMC's been cracking down on the illegal breeders, but there's one in particular I know of." He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that he needs to do this, needs to extend some measure of trust to these men or risk letting DeWitt slip through his fingers and go unpunished. "This goes no farther than the three of us. Hermione Granger was abducted from her flat Thursday night."

"Bloody hell, Malfoy, and you're just letting us know that now?" Andrews isn't the only one that looks insulted, Underhill does too. "The press would have had a field day if they'd caught wind of it." Potter's brilliant best friend might keep a lower profile than his other side-kick but she's still a high profile war hero. Underhill states, "If she has a part-kneazle it definitely would have done some damage to the kidnappers. Those creatures are fiercely protective of those they bond to."

"There was no reason to bring it up before now, Granger's already been safely rescued," Draco says, making another dismissive gesture with his hand. "She was being held in a warehouse by a few of DeWitt's men, all of whom are already in custody. It's how I was able to locate the house where they were keeping Jane, I had a blood sample from one of the men who'd been guarding Granger. She asked that it be kept quiet, and I was respecting her wishes in the matter."

Though neither of the two look happy about only finding out about it now, both seem relieved that the woman is safe again. Andrews says gruffly, "Next time call for back up. We know you're good, Malfoy, but you don't have to do everything yourself." The team hasn't had the chance to develop close ties yet, but lack of back up has gotten more than one auror killed over the years. Andrews doesn't want it happening to someone on his team.

Andrews' caution is met with a flat stare from Draco, his lip curled in just a hint of a sneer. "I'm accustomed to having to do everything myself," he reminds the older man. "I don't play well with others, remember?" He's never even worked with a partner before, considered too much of a risk by the department higher-ups, none of whom would shed a tear if the former Death Eater didn't come back from a case someday.

Underhill snorts, having gotten an earful from Andrews on the subject before himself, while Andrews rolls his eyes. "Tsk tsk, just because you missed out on learning to play nice in kiddie play group doesn't mean you can't learn now that you've got a team." Though given what he was given to work with it's obvious his superiors weren't picking out the cream of the auror crop. Onver is a joke, Andrews tries but just isn't that impressive, Underhill is probably the best of the lot being a steady worker who does his share but is no hot shot. He is at least known to be reliable. Underhill is the one who smacks Andrews upside the head, "Eh, cut him some slack. No one else does so makes sense he wouldn't think we would either," he says. "Where's that damn fool Onver? Did someone leave the file in China?"

Draco rolls his eyes, producing the file folder from a pocket of his robes. "Please. You don't honestly think I'd send someone I don't trust for something so vital, do you? I needed an excuse to get him out of here after seeing those scratches." He tosses the file onto the stack and then looks at both men, his customary sneer gone again. "/Think/, gentlemen. We've been wondering all along how DeWitt keeps eluding capture, dancing around the idea without having the nerve to say it aloud. Well, I'm saying it. He's got a mole in the department, and I've a feeling we've just found him."

Underhill growls at the mention of a mole, while Andrews looks disgusted. An auror who puts other aurors at risk is lower than filth. "Bastard," he snarls. Underhill shakes his head. "Hiding in plain sight. It makes sense... I mean who really notices Onver? He barely made it out of training."

"So the question now is what to do with this knowledge," Draco says, his voice calmer now that he didn't have to repeat himself. "We have no real proof of any wrongdoing on his part, nothing to go on aside from suspicion. However, if he really is what we think he is, we may be able to use this knowledge to our advantage and finally capture DeWitt."

Underhill nods, "I could do some discrete checking to see if he's been up to anything else that he shouldn't have been," he offers. "But I agree, at the moment there's no real proof. He might be able to lead us to DeWitt if he's watched." Andrews nods his agreement and after a moment looks to Underhill, "Might want to check the gambling dens and the like...

Didn't think much of it at the time but last time he was on desk and I was catching up on paperwork he kept rattling something and it sounded like dice. It was driving me balmy."

Merlin be praised, there are other people in the MLE who can put two and two together and come up with four. Draco nods at both of them. "Meanwhile, I'll see what I can come up with on DeWitt. It won't surprise anyone in the department if I look to be handling things on my own, and they'll all be watching me, expecting it." His lips curve in a smile, though it's not a friendly expression in the least. "Which leaves the pair of you free to keep a eye on Onver. Andrews, you've been on the desk with him, see if you can get some sort of rapport going. Underhill, take the background, dig into his personals, but be discreet. Much as I'd like to think Onver's the only person on DeWitt's payroll, we can't afford to make that assumption."

Underhill gives Draco a sly grin that would make a Slytherin proud though he was no such thing in school. "Oh, you leave that to me, Malfoy. Happens my great-auntie plays bridge with Onver's dear ol' mum. Not that I've ever mentioned that to him, annoying bugger that he is. If she's got a new 'cat' I'll hear about it and get whatever gossip there is too." Andrews says, "You've got the better task mate. I'll have to listen to him whine." Andrews rolls his eyes.

"There's one more thing I should probably mention," Draco says, looking thoughtful. "I don't have any proof of this, of course, but I'm fairly sure DeWitt was hired by the Firendrades. The boy is their grandson." He's not really paying much attention to the exchange between Andrews and Underhill, though some part of his brain is surely making snide comments behind a locked door in his head.

Lewis Underhill might have gotten some guff from his pureblood family over being sorted into Hufflepuff but it wasn't because he was 'a duffer'. He knows bloody well who the Firendrades are and promptly curses. Andrews quirks an eyebrow, not having had the misfortune to have to deal with any of them personally, and Underhill explains, with a slightly apologetic look towards Malfoy whose family can be described essentially the same way, "Old pureblood family, used to getting what they want, when they want."

Draco catches that glance, and his smirk returns, faintly. "Letitia Firendrade is a cousin of my late father's." He straightens, regaining some of that familiar imperiousness. "I took the liberty of stopping in on her Friday afternoon, but I can't say it went very well. I won't be able to pull the family card a second time, either." Not that he's regretting that decision at all, the visit just made him more determined to reunite Jane with her son.

"At least we know what we're dealing with," Underhill replies, though he doesn't miss Draco's phrasing - interesting that Malfoy doesn't really seem to want to claim her as family or he could just as easily have said she was his second-cousin. Andrews nods. "Good thing Onver is so thick. He's probably still looking for the file." Morty is still looking for the file, albeit not very hard. "His highness can just wait until I find it," he mutters, "spoiled prince always ordering us around."

"Thick, yes, but he can't be entirely useless or DeWitt would have cut him loose by now," Draco reminds them. He rolls his shoulders, looking over the paperwork assembled on the table, and then fishes his mirror out of his pocket. "I'd better call him back or we'll be days waiting on him to figure out it's not down there, and I've got plans for the evening." He says it casually, almost lightly, but Hermione's face comes to mind and brings a wicked flash to his eyes, briefly.

Underhill grins and Andrews smirks, "I'll bet you do," he says. Underhill shakes his head, "Maybe Andrews should go get him. Give him an opportunity for some whining bonding time." Andrews shoots him a dirty look.

"Ah, but that would be out of character for me, to delegate the giving of orders," Draco points out, smirking. He flashes his fellow teammates a grin, then the expression is replaced by one of thinly-concealed ire as he flips the mirror open and waits for Onver to answer it.

Onver grumbles, setting down the coffee cup he only just found and gets up out of the comfy chair he appropriated for his search kicking it out of sight as he flips open his mirror. "I haven't found it yet," he says.

"Of course you haven't," Draco snaps in reply. "It's already here. Get your arse up here so we can go over it." He closes the mirror without waiting for confirmation from Onver, then smirks at the other two Aurors. "I think we'll assign the blame for this to you, Underhill. Something he can whine about to Andrews later." Because it basically makes Underhill look more competent than Andrews, which gives Andrews the opening to form the necessary rapport.

Underhill smirks, "Whatever you'd like," he says. Andrews rolls his eyes, "I can see I'm going to need a lot of pub time when this is done." Morty glares at the mirror closing it, grabbing his mug of coffee he takes the time to finish it before abandoning it on a random desk and only then makes his way back to the conference room, all the while a silent monologue about 'that damn prince and his useless orders' runs through his head.

Locating a fresh sheet of parchment, Draco flips open the DeWitt file and proceeds to note the details Hermione had requested. Full name, date of birth, even going into what's known of the man's background, though it's a condensed version in order to fit on a single sheet. His handwriting is elegant and precise, and soon he's signing his name and folding it. "I'll send this off once Onver's back, then we can get to work."

Underhill quirks a brow, "Specialist?" he asks. Andrews is less interested at the moment as he's currently longing for a cup of good coffee unlike the sludge usually found in the office. Onver finally makes his way back and for a moment the doorknob turns uselessly before with an annoyed huff the short man manages to get enough leverage to open it. "Stupid door sticking again," he mutters.

"More or less," Draco replies to Underhill, not really wanting to give Hermione's identity away. He frowns in disapproval at Onver, then gestures to the papers on the table. "Good work, Underhill. Excuse me for a moment while I get this in the post." Then he disappears out the door so that he can send the letter off to his house for Hermione to locate when she's back with the boys.

Andrews shoots Underhill a dirty look at the compliment, while Underhill just smirks back at Andrews. Onver looks from Andrews to Underhill before his eyes shift back to Andrews and he takes the seat nearer to the older man. "What was that about?" he asks. Andrews rolls his eyes, "Nevermind. The file is found," he says shortly sounding for all the world as though he doesn't want to discuss it further. Underhill gives Andrews a friendly smile, "It isn't really a big deal anyway."

Allowing Andrews and Underhill time to play up the tension between them, Draco decides to hand-deliver the letter. He uses the Apparition point in the Ministry foyer, noting that Hermione must still be with Harry and Ginny and/or their boys as he arrives home. He sets it on the table in the library, where he's sure she'll find it, double-checks the wards, and heads back to the Ministry, the entire trip taking all of five minutes.

Andrews glowers back, "Of course it isn't it made _you_ look good," he huffs. Underhill rolls his eyes, "Get over it, Andrews, so long as the file was found who really cares?" he says. Andrews retreats into brooding silence and Onver just sits observing everything.

Draco returns to the conference room, opening the door with no difficulty whatsoever. He nods an acknowledgment of Underhill's presence, then begins going over the files. The men rounded up from DeWitt's safehouse yesterday still need to be questioned, though charges have already been filed based on the evidence and Jane's statement, given to another Auror while she was in the hospital. "Questioning of the suspects should be our top priority," he says, after going over the list of names. "Andrews, you and Onver can take this one here, Underhill and I will cover the others." He hands a file to Andrews, then two to Underhill, keeping the last two for himself. "Any information they can give us regarding DeWitt's current whereabouts may count in their favor, but let's not make any promises."

Andrews takes the file, noting as he glances down at it that the man in question is a minor thug they've had in before and one who is extremely unlikely to know anything whatsoever. He just nods. "Anything else before we go do that then?" he asks gruffly. Now that Malfoy is back in the room he cuts back the dirty looks aside from one when the man first comes in and only acknowledges Underhill.

Leading the way down to the holding cells beneath the Ministry, Draco reflects that it's a good thing they no longer employ dementors to keep watch over prisoners. "We'll meet back in the conference room when we're finished." He's not going to set a specific time limit since there's no telling how long it will take to find out how much or how little their prisoners know. Without waiting for the others, he proceeds to enter the first of the cells, to confront the man who's still sporting bruises from their encounter in the warehouse.

As expected, the men in custody can give them no new information about DeWitt, regardless of what interrogation method is used. Draco alternates between the two men he's selected, trying to play them off against each other, but it's no use because they just don't know anything. Several hours later, he finally heads up to the conference room, paperwork in hand so that the thugs can be officially tried and sentenced by the Wizengamot.

Andrews resigned himself to a tiresome day. After he and Onver finish with the low level, know-nothing thug they returnn to the conference room ahead of the others. It gives Onver time for more of a gripe-fest than usual. Underhill saunters into the conference room, paperwork in hand, only moments after Malfoy.

The door opens so silently that there's no warning of Draco's approach, and he gives Onver a look, walking in on the middle of the gripe-fest. That Underhill arrives after he does gets another nod of approval, and then he takes a seat to begin the task of comparing notes, though this is slightly less tedious than the interrogation because there's nothing new to compare. "Andrews, I trust you've completed the paperwork for the Wizengamot?" he asks, not even acknowledging Onver's contribution to the interrogation.

"Of course," Andrews says. Underhill takes his seat, doing a last minute check over of his paperwork, though it is all filled out. Finally he taps the papers against the table straightening them, "These two are all in order as well."

"I'll take them down on the way out, then, I have some other business down there," Draco says, holding a hand out to accept the completed paperwork. "This case is still open, but there's nothing we can do until we get some new information." He sighs, shaking his head. "Might as well head home for now. We'll have to report to the boss in the morning, meet with the prosecution, et cetera."

"Right you are, then," Underhill says, thinking it will be a good chance to have a word with Auntie Tess and maybe a go around with the boys to check a few gambling dens and the like. Andrews nods curtly, managing to keep the relief off his face though he can't wait to leave Onver's odious company.

Draco waits for the others to leave before finally relaxing some of his guard with a sigh. He runs one hand through his hair, then picks up the files and the rest of the paperwork and heads down the hall to lock the rest of the file in his desk. On the way down to the Wizengamot file office, he makes a call to one of his favorite restaurants, ordering dinner for two to go, planning to surprise Hermione with dinner since the interrogations took less time than he'd expected.

Andrews takes the early afternoon and heads home for a drink - he needs one after spending several hours with only Onver for company. Onver leaves the conference room going to the men's room. Silencing the stall he's in he makes use of a secured mirror that DeWitt provided him with for making his reports to fill him in on the progress (or rather lack of it) on the case and the status of the thugs.

By the time the papers are dropped off, Draco's in a fairly good mood, and he strolls up to the Apparition point once more. Dinner is ready to go when he arrives at the restaurant, so he doesn't need to do any more than pick it up and pay for it before heading home. He Apparates directly into the foyer, almost smiling at the idea of coming home to something other than an empty house.

"Hermione?" he calls, announcing his presence. When there's no reply, his smile fades, and he heads into the library, thinking to find her there. The library is as empty as when he'd been there earlier, his letter untouched, and he frowns, wondering what could have happened to her. He goes into the kitchen to put the food away, and remembers seeing a piece of paper on the table in the foyer. Stalking back out to the foyer, he picks up the scrap of notebook paper, and he lets out a low growl as he reads the note. Pansy will merit payback for whatever she's done, but first he needs to find Hermione while he still can.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

**Author's Note:** Apologies again for the delay in posting, but life and scheduling continues to put a damper on the work for this piece. This chapter has actually been finished for months, but I've only recently had a chance to sit down and post it, as well as updating all previous chapters to correct formatting errors. Love it? Hate it? Review and tell us why!

**Chapter Ten**

_When we last left our distraught heroine she had just written a hasty note. The torn out scrap of notebook paper has blurred writing in many places and is actually torn through where Hermione crossed things out:_

_'Dear Draco' has a few lines through it and is replaced with Malfoy, the handwriting shaky._

_Who am I kidding? This is never going to work. Pansy's right, I shouldn't fool myself. I'll just go away. No one really needs me anymore anyhow. (This last sentence also has lines through it, but is still barely readable.)_

_H.G._

"I've got to get out of here," Hermione mutters, tears streaming down over her cheeks and rushing around her flat frantically. "Where the bloody hell is my passport? Oh there it is. Crookshanks... where are you kitty? You need to go in your carrier... where is that cat?" Hurriedly she grabs clothing almost entirely at random from her closet and dresser, tossing it into a suitcase. "Come on, Crookshanks, be a good kitty. You like Luna... you know she'll feed you all sorts of things you aren't supposed to have but love..." She pulls the cat carrier from the closet shelf. "Please, Crookshanks... its just for a little while... I can't face him... I just can't..." She chokes back a sob as she checks under the bed for the cat. He's really good at hiding when he doesn't want to go somewhere and it is not helping her in the least right now. "I've got to go... I've got to... Crooksy last chance baby... let me take you to Luna's or you'll have to have dry kibble from the auto feeder."

Draco crumples the note in his fist, shoves it into his pocket and swears profusely under his breath. Then he Apparates directly to the hall outside Hermione's flat, not even caring if some Muggle happens to witness his arrival. Luck is with him, and he takes a deep breath, reining in his temper because she's not the one he's mad at. With that reminder fresh in mind, he manages to not pound on the door the way he wants to, instead knocking politely the way any other visitor might.

"Come on Crookshanks... she has garden gnomes you can chase..." Hermione pleads, but her stubborn cat still hasn't budged from wherever he's hiding. Hermione freezes at the knock before swiping at her face making a poor attempt at wiping away the tears. "Maybe it's Luna?" she can't quite make herself believe that but she moves toward the door anyway, eyeing it with a small measure of dread. Looking through the peekhole she swallows hard. "Oh no..." the words come out softly and for a long moment she just stares at the closed door before the tattered fragments of Gryffindor courage force her to open it.

"May I come in?" Draco is careful to keep his tone polite, on the off chance her neighbors are the nosy type, but he can't keep the concern off his face, his eyes flashing when he sees the tears still clinging to her cheeks. It's a measure of that concern that he's even asking, otherwise he'd have stepped past her without waiting for an invitation.

Hermione steps back to let him in reluctantly only to trip over Crookshanks, who has finally come out of hiding and is regarding Draco with a stare that all but says 'I kept her here this long you're on your own now'. "Honestly! At this rate I'm becoming more clumsy than Tonks."

Stepping inside, Draco reaches to steady her as she trips over the cat. "Not clumsy at all," he says, letting go of her and closing the door. He catches sight of the empty cat-carrier and arches a brow at her. "Going somewhere?"

"Yes... No... Oh I don't know..." Hermione says, torn and miserable. Unconsciously she bites her lower lip. She'd meant to be gone. She wasn't feeling brave enough to face him and yet here he is.

Draco pulls the crumpled note out of his pocket, his jaw tight with barely-suppressed fury. "You ran into Pansy?" he asks, his voice calm and even despite his expression. "What did she say to you?" 'That I'll have to kill her for' is what his mind tacks on the end, though at least he doesn't voice that thought.

Involuntarily it all spills out, Hermione's agitated state combined with not eating since breakfast triggering the Kyoto Veritas. The shirt, the warning, the way those twisted little barbed put-downs still hurt, the way she still feels like a frumpy, bushy-haired know-it-all that no one really wants or would want. Timing and carefully chosen words, Pansy's was impeccable with both for actually hitting Hermione's vulnerabilities.

The temper flashes in his eyes, and Draco /growls/, then proceeds to rip the note to shreds. It's the only thing he can get his hands on at the moment that he can afford to damage, and while it's not enough it keeps him from a more violent display of anger. "Hermione," he says, trying for a gentle tone but not quite making it, his voice a little rough still with the effort of reining his temper in. "Pansy doesn't know what she's talking about."

Hermione sniffs, the explanation set off her tears again and she's trying to get them back under control. "Maybe not..." she says slowly, finally bringing herself to look at him with red-rimmed and miserable eyes. The truth is she isn't used to people being sensitive of her feelings. Over the years she built up a mask to hide the sting but it never stopped the pain.

Reaching into another pocket, Draco draws out a handkerchief, but instead of handing it to her he brings his hand up to wipe gently at her tears. "Please, don't go," he says, quietly, his fingertips brushing her cheek. "You can if you really want to, if you really think it's for the best, I won't stop you." However much he might want to; he has enough respect for her to care about her feelings in the matter.

Hermione releases a sigh along with an almost unnoticeable bit of the tension she's carrying. "Paris probably wouldn't be very nice by myself anyway," she says softly, her face leaning slightly into that brush of his fingers, craving the contact.

"Paris, hm?" he asks, stepping closer and reaching for her waist with his other hand. "Perhaps, after all of this is over, if you still feel like going, I can use some of my accumulated vacation time, and we can go together." The temper is starting to fade now that she's relaxing, allowing him to focus more fully on her.

"Mmhmm, it fit the right criteria... close enough to get there easily and familiar enough to be somewhat comfortable," Hermione says, pausing to explain, "I used to travel with my parents for the holidays sometimes." She sways into him when he reaches for her waist - as nervous as Pansy made her over the likelihood of getting hurt something in her doesn't want to believe it. Especially not when he's right here with her. Nibbling on her lip again while she was lost in her thoughts she finally adds on, "I would like to see Paris with you sometime."

Gently, carefully, Draco pulls her closer, his other hand wiping away the last of her tears. "I'm sorry you were hurt because of me. I'll have a talk with Pansy." A pause, and then he adds, "When I've calmed down enough not to rip her head off." He leans in and brushes a kiss to her cheek. "She had one thing right, though. You /are/ special."

For just a moment it looks as though Hermione might argue the point but something in both the care and his eyes stops her. She finally feels secure enough to slip her arms around him again and snuggles in against his chest. "I'm sorry too..." she says hesitantly, "I just rushed off..."

"Shh." Draco presses a kiss to her forehead, his other arm winding around her. "Don't apologize. Pansy may not know me as well as she thinks she does, but she knows /you/ almost as well as I do." His arms tighten, hugging her, before adding, "She's jealous. It must have been quite a shock to see you in my shirt, I've never let her wear one."

"It was a very comfortable shirt," Hermione says, chuckling just a little, her own arms tightening as she relaxes into the hug. "You know its rather tiring falling to pieces I'm reminded why I didn't allow myself to indulge in it often in school... but its very nice to have someone to hold me if I do." She was often forced to keep a level head and be the strong one, to keep things together in order to get them through.

"It's been a long day for both of us," Draco replies, one hand rubbing her back gently. "I don't suppose I can persuade you to head back to my place? Dinner," he adds, after a moment. He had, after all, mentioned to her this morning that he'd stop for dinner on the way home.

"Let me just change," Hermione says. She didn't want to take the time when she was intent upon leaving as soon as possible but a change of clothes is rather appealing. Not to mention washing her face and brushing out her hair. She's quite certain that she looks an absolute fright right now.

Draco's hand drifts up to the back of her neck, fingers brushing the skin there a moment before he dips his head just a little lower to press his lips to hers. Apparently, he's not in /that/ big a hurry to get home for dinner.

The touch of his fingers sends a tingle running through her and Hermione sighs softly into his kiss, a feeling of rightness washing over her. Though Pansy shook her confidence it is near impossible for her to maintain doubts in Draco's presence. Bizarre or wrong as some (like Pansy and no doubt Ron once he knows) will find it, Hermione Granger is finding solace in and indeed is quite smitten with Draco Malfoy. Certainly it isn't something anyone would have predicted ever happening.

Fingertips sliding up into her hair, Draco deepens the kiss, his other hand splayed at the small of her back to hold her close. He certainly never would have predicted falling for Hermione Granger, of all people (honestly, it's not that much of a shock that Pansy reacted so badly), but it seems that's exactly what he's doing, however unbelievable or wrong it might seem to either of their friends.

Melting into him, Hermione's mmm is muffled as she responds. The kiss is deliciously unhurried but certainly enough to distract her from thinking overmuch. Fingers thread into his hair absently stroking the silky tresses so different from her rather wild and far less manageable curls.

Savoring the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms, Draco takes his time relearning her mouth, not the least bit hurried in what he's doing. If anything he seems to want to draw it out, to make sure that he's thoroughly banished all thoughts of leaving from her mind. When the kiss finally breaks, his lips trail along her jawline, his voice a husky rumble as he murmurs, "You know, you could always put off changing until we get back to my place, and then you can change back into my shirt. I seem to recall you were going to let me take it off of you later."

By the time his mouth lifts from hers to trail along her jawline leaving is the last thing on her mind, though from the moment she reluctantly opened the door to him flight became far less likely an option. Her voice low and a little breathless, Hermione replies, "I did say that, didn't I? And it would get me out of these clothes... very well." Her lips curve a little.

With a reluctant sigh, Draco lifts his head, looking down at her with darkened silver eyes, his fingers sliding through her hair. "I must admit I don't really want to let go of you to Apparate," he rumbles. "But I suppose it's for the best."

Hermione gives him a mischievous look and her arms tighten around him as she murmurs, "Letting go isn't really necessary for that," right before Apparating the two of them outside his house without further ado. "This way saves having to leave the house as well, of course." Her wards let her apparate through them with or without someone else, though they aren't so permissive towards others.

Upon arriving in his front yard, Draco's eyes flash, and his hand slides down her back to caress her backside. "Good point," he growls, and promptly Apparates them through /his/ wards and directly to his bedroom. "I can't say I'm really thinking about dinner right now, though."

"I'm not really hungry for dinner yet either," Hermione admits, having lost her appetite at the ice cream shop the crying jag didn't bring it back. Her appetite for him however has been whetted nicely. Draco is far more tempting than a raspberry fudge nut ripple anyway.

Backing her toward the bed, Draco slides his hands up under her sweater, reveling in the feel of her skin beneath his palms. "Merlin, you feel good," he breathes, dipping his head to nip at her earlobe. Was it really only two days ago that he first kissed her?

Moving back toward the bed, Hermione kisses his neck, tongue darting out against the pulse point beneath his ear as she half-purrs back, "And you taste good... maybe I'll just nibble on you and forget about dinner." She follows up her words by nibbling on his earlobe.

"I can't find a single thing wrong with that plan," Draco grrrowls, his hands sweeping up under her sweater to caress her breasts through the fabric of her bra. "Seems there are some obstacles in the way, though. Perhaps we should take care of those first."

"Mmm, it would make nibbling on you easier too I'd imagine," Hermione replies with a little laugh as her fingers caress his shoulders lightly through the fabric covering them before slipping off to tug at her sleeves and slip her arms out of them before pulling her sweater over her head. All thought of looking a fright has been forgotten, surprisingly or not, with how he's looking at her.

Brushing his thumbs over her nipples before withdrawing his hands, Draco makes short work of his tie and the buttons of his shirt. His trousers and boxers follow quickly, and he kicks the discarded fabric aside before reaching for her again, running his hands over the newly bared skin.

Hermione draws in a breath at that little brush of his thumbs, letting it out as he withdraws his hands to rid himself of his clothes. While he does that she gets rid of her jeans. Her lips descend upon his collarbone, tracing their way to the base of his neck to press a kiss upon the pulse point there before she murmurs, "I suppose you might like it better if I wait to put your shirt back on, hmm?"

Draco groans, one hand coming up to brush through her hair, and he resumes the progress toward the bed. "Later," he growls, tugging her with him as he falls backward onto the bed. "Right now I just want you," he adds, his other hand stroking the curve of her hip.

Landing half on him, half on the bed, Hermione lets out a low chuckle, returning to kissing along his collarbone towards the other shoulder. "You've got me," she replies, lifting her face to brush a kiss along his jaw.

Letting go of her hair, Draco snares her hips with both hands, rolling them both over so that he's looking down at her. "Good. I don't plan on letting go of you any time soon, either," he rumbles, before dipping his head to kiss her soundly.

Upon being rolled over Hermione glides her hands over the muscles of his back as she gazes up at Draco, her eyes warm like melted chocolate though desire has them darkening. Her lips lift to meet his as they descend, soft and welcoming.

There is a softness to his kiss, at least at first, a gentleness in the way he handles her, but it's not long before the heat ignites, the rumble sounding in his chest. His hand moves over her stomach, up to her chest, fingers seeking the sensitive nub to toy with, breaking the kiss and nibbling for a moment on her lower lip before his lips trail along the line of her jaw to her neck.

A soft sigh escapes her lips as the kiss breaks, her head tilting back into the cradling pillows naturally to allow him more access to her throat. Her fingers continue to trace the muscles of his back confirming by their very solid rippling that he and this are very real, and not some product of an overactive romance novel induced imagination. Hazily a thought drifts through her mind barely registering in a mind overwhelmed with just feeling. Being with him is like coming home.

He murmurs her name against her throat, his breath warm on her skin, then nips at the same spot before moving lower, repeating the process in the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. His fingers roll her nipple between them before his hand cups her breast, kneading gently at first, then with more purpose. One knee moves to part hers, and an errant thought flits through his head that he could get used to this, to coming home to her.

Her lips curve into a tender smile as he murmurs her name, eyes half-shut with dark lashes caressing her cheeks. One hand comes up to stroke through his hair and a soft moan escapes her lips as her back arches in response to his clever hands and fingers. "Draco..." It comes out half sighed, half purred.

The sounds she's making just encourages him further, and Draco's mouth moves lower, nibbling on her collarbone before trailing kisses to her previously neglected breast. He murmurs her name again, with more emphasis on the second syllable, which almost makes it sound like he's saying "Mine" the way her 'nephews' do, though he's not quite there yet.

"Mmmmrrr," Hermione murmurs. Her senses feel heightened, every nerve ending tingling with pleasure, aware of the slightest thing he does. The fingers twining through his hair unconsciously grasp tighter, though not painfully so, as his mouth comes to her breast and she draws in a breath. Her other hand continues to run over his back, occasionally drifting lower to caress another set of impressive muscles (Draco possessing a mighty fine butt).

However close Draco may be to calling her his out loud, he seems fully intent on laying claim to every inch of her in a non-verbal fashion. His mouth doesn't linger for long in any one spot, nor do his hands, as he makes his way down her body, slowly, nibbling and licking and caressing and teasing.

And Hermione is responsive, so responsive to him. Her pulse thrums at a rapid, but steady rate, while soft moans and gasps punctuate the more constant purrs of pleasure at what his mouth and hands are up to. It is rare for her to just completely let go and yet that's just what she's done, giving herself over to him and reveling in the way he makes her feel. Her fingers signal her pleasure almost as much as her voice, stilling or tightening on him whenever he hits a particularly sensitive spot, reaching to caress him.

Watching her abandon control, knowing how hard she tries to always /be/ in control of herself, is incredibly arousing for Draco. His teeth nip at her skin, just above her pelvic bone, just hard enough to leave a mark without breaking the skin, his hand moving down her leg to her knee and then back up, fingers teasing the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, his leg brushing hers as he moves lower on the bed.

Her lips part, sharply drawing in breath at that nip, her body trembling a little in reaction to his touch. One leg bends a little as her foot shifts to run lightly over the calf of the leg that just brushed hers. Her hands have just settled in his hair, having drifted up as he moved down over her body. He's already made her ready for him, though her need hasn't driven her to pleading... yet. No, she's content, more than content, to let him do what he wills, aware as she gazes down at him that her pleasure is giving him pleasure too.

He breathes in her scent, his fingers moving upward to just barely brush against her, watching her react. There's a part of him that wants to continue the slow torment, wants to push her to see what it would take to make her beg, and he spends a moment imagining what she'd look like writhing and pleading beneath him. Instead, he lifts his head, admiring her body before asking, "What is it you want, Hermione? Talk to me. Tell me."

Her hips shift as his fingers touch her, automatically moving into the touch, pressing herself against him. For a moment she looks at him, eyes hazy with desire, her tongue slowly moistening her lips as the question takes a moment to register. "I.." It definitely takes her a moment to find her voice again, "I want... I want you, Draco... whatever you want, just don't stop. I need you." The words come out in a low, husky voice, curiously vulnerable still, but filled with an almost tender desire that is echoed in her gaze.

"You have me," Draco replies, his fingers moving against her again before sliding further up. His head lowers again, his tongue flicking out to taste her, teasing, before his mouth descends fully to work in tandem with his talented fingers.

"Good..." Whether the word is in response to having him or a rather inadequate summation of how he is making her feel is irrelevant. Her arms come back around him as he slides up her body, holding on possessively even as her hips continue to shift in response to those clever fingers. She whimpers her pleasure into his mouth, tongue tangling with his, the whimpers changing into those almost purrs. Yes, good is a wholly inadequate word for how he makes her feel.

A roll of his hips, a shift of his hand, and he's inside of her, moaning into the kiss, his other hand coming up to thread through her hair. For a moment he stays there, reveling in the feel of her around him, the rightness of their bodies intertwined, and then he starts to move, slowly at first but gradually increasing in speed.

She moves under him, hips lifting to meet his thrusts, her body pulsing with pleasure. "Mmmmmm," the sound escapes into the kiss even as one of her hands drops to his butt and squeezes even as her hips lift into him again with a little swivel that makes her breath hitch, clear indication that he already has her on the verge of sensation overload.

That hip swivel combined with the squeeze nearly undoes him, and Draco's thrusting picks up speed, his mouth leaving hers to breathe her name in a hoarse rumble of a purr. His head dips to latch onto her neck, nibbling and sucking and leaving a mark on her skin.

"Draco..." It comes out a throaty whimper as he sends fireworks shooting through her body. Hermione clings to him as she drowns in the sensations coursing through her, muscles contracting in spasms of delight as his name comes off her lips again somewhere between choked and reverent, "Draco..."

"Stay with me, Hermione," Draco pants, his breath hot against her ear before he nips at her earlobe, his hips still moving, his breathing fast and erratic. One arm slides beneath her, pulling her closer, holding her to him, possessively, as he feels his control starting to slip.

Hermione moans, her hips swiveling against him again, encouraging that loss of control, her own pleasure intense and prolonged by the way he holds her. Her head tilts down, kissing a moment where neck meets shoulder before nipping at it and her arms still clinging to him tightly as though she never means to let him go.

That nip to his neck unravels the last threads of his self control, his whole body shaking as release finally comes, her name on his lips. His hips jerk sharply, twice, then move slowly before finally halting altogether, his mouth against the side of her neck.

She continues to hold him, loathe to part with him, nuzzling his neck before placing a tender kiss to the spot she nipped and letting her head come to rest up against his shoulder. Her chest still rises and falls rapidly against his. She has the glow of a well-pleasured female and certainly her face reflects that, drowsy eyes and all.

Draco pushes himself up just enough to look down at her, smoothing hair from her forehead with a fond smile. "You look," he observes, his voice still a little husky, "like a woman who's just had incredible sex." The smile turns into a faint smirk, but the arrogance is entirely justified and he knows it.

Hermione's arms release him for a moment in a lazy stretch before settling back around him as she gives him the sort of content smile of the variety a cat gets having lapped up a bowlful of cream. "Hmm, wonder why..." she replies, eyes twinkling as she runs one hand slowly up and down his back. Somewhat embarrassingly it is at that point that her stomach growls rather loudly. "Looks like that isn't the only appetite you stimulated."

The unexpected rumbling of her stomach draws a short laugh from Draco, who leans down to kiss her soundly before reluctantly pulling away. "Then I suppose I ought to see about dinner, while it's still a halfway decent hour." He slides out of bed and smirks down at her, backing toward the bathroom. "I'd offer to let you join me in the shower, but that's not going to satisfy those other appetites in anything remotely resembling a timely fashion. Perhaps you should use the guest bath?"

Hermione chuckles. "Yes, perhaps that would be best... in the interest of having dinner sooner rather than later. Where IS the guest bath?" she asks, having somehow missed it on her tour. Of course they were more than a little distracted from the tour itself before reaching the upper floors of the house. Somehow they ended up skipping over a lot in favor of the master bedroom. Imagine that. Sliding out from under the sheets she stands and pads her way over to reclaim his folded shirt from where she left it.

"Other side of the hall, the middle door." Draco gestured toward the hall door with one hand, leaning against the frame of the door to his own bathroom. "If you feel up to it, once you've showered, the information you asked me to get for you on DeWitt is in the library. I don't expect dinner to take long to arrange, but one never knows." He wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing when he put the bag of food in the icebox, after all.

With a nod Hermione heads for the guest bath. Thankfully it isn't a magic mirror that greets her - she can do without the comments _those_ make. She hangs his shirt on a hook on the back of the door for the time being before turning on the shower and adjusting it to the perfect temperature. Her hands rub at her face a bit, more conscious now that her eyes hurt from her earlier self-indulgent crying. Stepping beneath the spray she just lets it relax her a moment before reaching for one of the bottles that line a built in shelf. Flipping the lid she sniffs to see what the scent is - cinnamon. It doesn't appear to have been used before and she's oddly (or not so oddly) glad of that. After using the shower gel and a wash cloth to get cleaned up she selects the accompanying shampoo and conditioner for her hair before finally turning the water off. A fluffy, warmed towel later and she's dried off aside from her hair. She towels it a bit before slipping into his shirt and buttoning it up. Hmm. She'll have to go get her wand to dry it a bit more and then she can head down to the library. A glance in the mirror tells her that she looks better - but that wouldn't be hard given what a wreck she looks after crying. It's just one of the reasons she wouldn't give them the satisfaction in school after first year when she was so lonely and isolated.

Ordinarily, Draco is in and out of the shower, but the hot water after the stresses of the last few days feels too good to resist, and he spends several minutes soaking in the spray. He's still there when Hermione returns to retrieve her wand, and she has plenty of time to get down to the library before he finally turns the water off and towels himself dry. Which is probably for the best, all things considered, because that way he doesn't get distracted on his way to warm up dinner.

Once she's managed to instill a certain degree of dryness to her hair with her wand Hermione makes a token effort at taming the unruly curls before padding her way silently down the stairs. Upon entering the library she stops and her eyes fall closed for just a moment as she inhales deeply, a small appreciative smile tugging at her lips at the scent that can only be found in places where hundreds or thousands of books of various age reside. With one wistful glance at the shelves she turns her formidable attention instead to the papers lying on one of the tables and settling herself in a chair in front of them takes a piece of parchment and begins making complex calculations, occasionally glancing at the paper Draco sent her. She pauses periodically to check her calculations before taking a second parchment and filling in a detailed profile based on what the equations are telling her.

Draco dresses fairly quickly and heads directly to the kitchen, to retrieve the bags from the icebox. Even though she's seen him cook, it might shock Hermione to see just how at home he is in the kitchen, moving easily as he warms the dishes that need to be warmed and puts everything on plates, sets the table, et cetera. He takes his time, though, not rushing the preparations in order to give her time to go through the various calculations that she's doing.

What he's forgotten, in the midst of all of this, is that Sunday evenings have up to this point been a sort of guys' night, and this week it's his turn to host his old friends from Slytherin. At precisely seven, there's a barely-audible pop from the foyer, and Draco straightens up in alarm.

From within the quiet of the library the pop goes completely unnoticed by Hermione. Neatening up the quill and inkpot she's used she gathers up both notes and the parchments with her equations and the profile. Eyes focused on the profile page as she reads it over she hasn't the faintest idea the picture she makes emerging from the library barefoot and clad only in one of Draco's dress shirts. Especially as she is apparently comfortable enough with the layout even after so short an acquaintance with Draco's home that she doesn't look up from the parchment while making her way down the hall toward the kitchen.

In the foyer, Theo is the first to snap himself out of the shock induced by the sight of barely-clothed Hermione Granger. He elbows Blaise sharply, and they trade glances, then the latter calls, in a hideously accurate Latin accent, "Draco, you got some 'splainin' ta do!"


End file.
